Collar Stays
by Miran Anders
Summary: A collection of epilogues or additions to specific episodes of White Collar. Canon based, no slash. Newest is "Judgment Day". Spoilers all around.
1. Payback: With Interest

This is the first of a planned series of post-scripts to various White Collar episodes. I hope you enjoy.

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_**PAYBACK WITH INTEREST**_

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It was midnight in the Burke household. Two people leaned up against the couch in the living room, sitting on the floor in the dim light of a dying fire. On the coffee table in front of them sat a wine glass, half empty, and a bottle of beer, half full. It was quiet for a long moment.

"Then what happened?"

The man's head turned slightly to look at her. "You sure?"

The woman picked up her wine glass and ran her finger around the edge. "I'm sure," she said, taking a deep breath and exhaling slowly.

He picked up his beer and took a long sip. "Okay." Shifting only slightly, imperceptibly moving his free arm that rested on the sofa closer to her shoulders, he went on. "I finally got the cuff open. Then it was just a matter of getting him close enough to do something. I- well, I got him to stick his arm between the bars –"

"Peter." Her eyes, dark in the dim light, looked at him searchingly. "Just tell me."

Her husband sighed, sipped again. "Fine. I basically told him he was such a bad shot that he couldn't hit a stationary target from three feet away." He looked toward the fireplace, practically down to embers now, and managed a smirk. "He reached in and took aim - I could see he was trying to figure out where to hit me – and the moment his eyes shifted I just jumped forward, grabbed his arm and yanked as hard as I could. Slammed his face into the bars." He drank again, shook his head. "I got lucky. It took him right out."

For a few moments it was quiet again, as he was lost in thought, remembering the events of the afternoon. A soft sound caught his attention, and he turned to look at his wife.

The sky outside had cleared, and the moon shone softly through the window. It illuminated a tear sliding down Elizabeth's cheek. Peter dropped his arm around her and rubbed her shoulder with a whisper. "I'm sorry, sweetheart."

"Don't be. You know the rules." She wiped at her cheek quickly.

"I do. And I love you." He lifted her chin to look into her eyes. "So much."

Ever since they had met, ever since Elizabeth realized that the man she loved put himself in harm's way on an almost daily basis, they had created the rules. She never suggested that he should stop doing his job, as long as he was honest in recounting whatever had happened if there was a 'situation'. Her imagination was able to conjure up images that were worse than anything that actually transpired, so she insisted on the truth. For Peter, knowing that he could tell her anything, absolutely anything, and have her calmly react, knowing that whatever happened, he was okay now – made all the difference in the world. Wrapping his arms around her he held her close. It made him feel so helpless. Rarely did Elizabeth cry – and more often in frustration than in sadness. She was his rock, his stability… and he had learned over the years that when she honored him by leaning on him, all he had to do was _be_ there. He rubbed her back as she wept quietly into his shoulder, feeling her cling to him gratefully.

After a while she stopped, sniffed, and took a few deep breaths as she slowly pulled away. He smiled at her strength in the darkness, and kissed her forehead gently. Her head dropped for a moment, and she laughed quietly.

"What?"

"You're going to make me cry again."

"By kissing your head?"

She pulled herself together, took a sip of wine, and looked up into his deep, concerned eyes with a smile. "Mozzie did that when he came to the house." Peter frowned, confused, and tilted his head.

"He kissed your head?"

"He came over to make sure I was okay." She sipped again, looking into the fireplace. "I guess he could tell I was upset."

Peter felt a wave of emotion come over him. El, his rock, upset enough at his situation that someone else could see it… He felt guilty, but at the same time –

"I have to tell you, Peter. I know you might not like it… but it makes such a difference to me to know that people like Neal and Mozzie are on your side. On _our_ side. I know the team at the office will do anything they can for you… but Neal and Mozzie will do things that no one can do. I feel… safer. Like I have allies who are willing put your safety first." She inhaled deeply and smiled at him fondly. "Like I would. I can't tell you how much of a difference it makes."

Peter stared into the distance for a few moments, thinking about what she said. He took one last drink, and his bottle tapped hollowly on the table. "El, I don't know what to think, sometimes. After the debriefing today, Diana passed the word to me from the Scottish Royal Museum. You know the ring that Neal gave them for me?"

"Yes?"

"It's worth over two and a half million. Two and a half million! And he gave it up, just like that…"

Elizabeth blinked in amazement, then curled into his arms again. "We are so lucky to have them… who would have thought…"

"I know." He looked at her, leaned over to kiss her. "I'm so lucky to have you."

The last embers of the fire stirred for a moment before fading slowly into the darkness. On the floor, in front of the couch, two people found each other in the soft moonlight, holding one another as if they would never let go.

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The partners stood in line at the coffee shop, and Neal leaned over impatiently to see how long the line ahead was. He looked down at his watch, then at his hands, and frowned. "Hey – I'm just going to wash my hands. I have ink all over me from those files we looked at."

"Fine with me," Peter responded. Neal was about to walk away when Peter grabbed his arm. "Oh, Neal – my battery is dead. Can I use your phone to call Elizabeth?"

The younger man reached into his pocket instantly. "Sure. Tell her I said 'hi'."

"Will do." The agent watched Neal walk into the men's room before taking a breath. He mumbled to himself, "I have no reason to feel guilty." Then he shook his head with a resigned grin. Considering he tracked everything he could about this man for four years, you wouldn't think that this would bother him so much. _Yeah, but he wasn't your partner then…_

Peter stared at the phone in his hand for a moment before flipping it open. Checking through the contacts, he didn't see anything familiar… which shouldn't have surprised him. He tapped the speed dial for one, and saw his own house number come up. He snorted a laugh in spite of himself. Two came up as his cell phone, and three… well, three was unfamiliar. "Okay…" He punched three and waited, a bit nervously.

The phone rang twice before it picked up. A familiar voice said, "Neal?"

Relief came through in the agent's response. "No, Moz, this is Peter."

There was a pointed pause. "Since I'm sure I'd feel a disturbance in the force if he was dead - and you don't really sound worried - I have to assume you stole Neal's phone?"

The agent laughed. "Not exactly stole. Let's say 'borrowed', with every intention of returning. I'd like to meet with you, and I didn't have your number. Can we meet at my house… say… three-thirty?"

"Hang on. Is Neal okay?"

"He's fine. I just want to talk to _you_. In person. Privately. They're sending me home early after all the excitement yesterday, and El's got an appointment with a client."

Another long pause ensued. "Alright, Suit, I don't know what you're up to, but I'll be there."

"Thanks." Peter was surprised. He thought it would take a lot more than that to convince the brilliant but paranoid Moz. Luckily, he looked up in time to see Neal just steps away. "See you later, Hon." He snapped the phone shut and handed it back to his partner. "Appreciate it."

"No problem," Neal answered, his blue eyes smiling brightly. They stepped forward and ordered their lunch.

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oOo

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At precisely three-thirty, Peter heard a quiet knock at the back door, but when he opened it, there was no one there. First he frowned, then grinned as Satchmo ran out to greet their guest. Mozzie was sitting out on the patio in the afternoon sun, drumming his fingers on the table. "Okay, _Hon_. What's going on?"

The agent shook his head, trying to figure out how to put the little man at ease. "Hey, Moz. You want some coffee? Tea? …anything?" He looked so uncomfortable that it was Mozzie's turn to frown.

"What's going on?" His eyes widened behind his glasses. "Is Elizabeth okay?"

Peter sighed. "She's fine. She's better than fine. And… well. That's why I asked you here." Moz stared, but said nothing. Peter gave up and sat down next to him at the table. "Mozzie – Elizabeth told me what you did yesterday."

The words came spilling out so quickly that they must have been rehearsed. "Completely legal to own government surplus equipment, and use it in your own home –"

"Moz! I'm not – I didn't ask you here to – damn. Why do you and Neal have to be so difficult to appreciate?"

The little man's head turned slowly as he regarded the FBI agent. "I'm listening."

Peter nearly laughed, then waited a moment, organizing his thoughts. When he did speak, it was in a quiet, almost vulnerable way. "Listen, Moz. I asked you here to thank you. I know what Neal did for me yesterday, and I'm grateful – but I'm just as grateful to you. You were there for the person who's always there for me… but she can't come busting through the door with the cavalry in tow. She just had to wait, and she was scared, and you helped her. You made it easier for her. I… I can't tell you how much that means to me." The man's eyes were wet when he finished, and he rose from the table, standing with his back to Moz as he brusquely rubbed his hands over his face. "I just wanted you to know. And I wanted to say thanks. In person."

Moz gave him a minute before standing to speak just as quietly. "Listen, Suit – if I could clone your wife, and then somehow convince the clone to care about me the way Elizabeth does about you… well. I'd do it in a hot minute. She's easily the most nonjudgmental, supportive person I've ever met. I hope you appreciate what you've got."

Peter turned around. "I do. I really do."

"Good."

The agent extended his hand and Moz regarded it for a moment before shaking it.

"Thank you, Moz. You're a good man."

The little man grinned. "You're welcome. _Peter_." A robin who had taken up residence in the maple behind the house took that moment to start singing, and the men both looked up, welcoming the distraction. "I believe I'll be going now, Suit."

"I understand. Thanks for coming by." As they waited for the dog to come through the door, Peter added, "This has been quite a week. I was amazed that Neal gave up that ring. Two and a half million. Unbelievable."

Moz stared at him. "You know it was worth a lot more than that."

The agent shrugged, "Well, two and a half, two and three quarters… at that level the numbers stop meaning much." He began to turn to walk into the house, and felt Moz's hand on his arm.

"Suit… that ring…"

"Yeah?"

The little man sighed. "It was going to be Kate's engagement ring. He's been holding on to it, just in case."

Peter's eyebrows lifted for a moment, then his face fell. "Oh, no…" he shook his head. "Are you sure?"

"Would Neal hang on to a ring like that for any other reason? If it was worth that much?"

"Oh… " Stunned, the agent blinked back to the present and nodded at Moz. "Thanks for telling me. I promise, Moz, I'll make sure he knows how much I appreciate what he's done."

"I believe you will." Mozzie was walking down the path when Peter called after him.

"Hey." The little man turned back and waited. "What do you think, Moz? Do you think she would have said 'yes'?"

Their eyes locked thoughtfully for a long moment before Mozzie shrugged, turned, and walked away into the warm, bright afternoon.

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Please feed the Author!


	2. Payback: Paid in Full

I decided that "Payback" needed just a wee bit more from Peter... and besides, I'm ridiculously excited to be the 'Fan of the Week" on the USA website for White Collar - it just seemed necessary to post something to celebrate.

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_**PAYBACK: PAID IN FULL**_

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The basketball game was muted, the files spilled across Peter's lap and onto the couch. An empty beer bottle and a bowl of popcorn were on the side table, while a second bottle, just begun, was in the agent's hand.

Elizabeth glanced up from her gardening catalog and surveyed her husband in his native environment for a Saturday with a smile. She was always amazed at how much had to be going on for him to relax. Dropping her eyes back to the page of perennials, she gave a tiny gasp as she saw a new pink aster. "Peter –" she looked up, ready to share her find with him, fully ready to convince him they must have it for the back garden – when she realized that he was staring off into the distance. Not at the game, not at his files. Just… off. For a moment she was concerned, but abruptly she realized where his thoughts must have taken him.

"Sweetheart?" She spoke softly, but something in her warm concern got through and he blinked, his head jerking back. When he looked at her and realized she had been watching him, he looked apologetic.

"I'm sorry, El. I was just thinking."

She smiled at him gently. "I know."

"You would." He took a sip of his beer and glanced at the game automatically. The post-game interviews were starting, and he shook his head. "I guess I'm a little distracted today. I think I missed half the game."

Elizabeth waited for him to look back at her. When he did, she put her catalog down and went to sit next to him on the couch, her legs tucked up under her and her arm around his back. After she kissed him, she whispered, "Did you figure out what you want to do yet?"

He looked despondent, but couldn't help shaking his head at her with a grin. "Mind reader." He leaned forward to kiss her softly. "And a gorgeous one, at that."

"Flattery will get you everywhere." They kissed again, and she rested her head on his shoulder. "You haven't, have you."

"No." He took another swallow of beer and exhaled loudly. "What can I do, El?"

She lifted her head. "Seriously?"

Peter turned his head to look at her and light dawned in his eyes. "Of course. This is your territory." He put down his beer and moved the files to the coffee table, turning to face her. "Say you had a client. He wanted to show his appreciation to an… employee. A coworker." He looked off at the wall.

"A partner?"

The grin slowly crept across his face. "Fine, yes. A _partner_. One that's gone above and beyond. He gave up that ring, and… How would you advise him? El, I don't even know where to start…"

Elizabeth straightened up and looked thoughtful. "Well, I suppose I'd start by asking him to think about this partner. What makes him happy? What would he -" She stopped, looked into his eyes. "But Peter, it seems to me that in this case what you want to make is a gesture."

"A gesture?"

"Sure. That's what Neal did. He made a grand, amazing gesture. The money wasn't important to him – frankly, I don't think money ever really is to him, other than a way to keep score of winning or losing – but the fact that he was willing to give up such a huge part of his old life…"

Peter nodded. "Giving up hope." His hand found hers and held it tightly. "Giving up the dream of Kate." His eyebrows lifted as he looked at her. "You know I didn't trust her motives, but still, I can't imagine…"

A sympathetic expression crossed her face. "I know. I hope his future is more kind. He's a good man, Peter."

"I know." He grinned a little. "At least, I think he wants to be."

She punched his shoulder lightly. "Be nice. I think all he wants from you is some respect, and you're so reluctant to give it to him… a little respect… maybe a little trust."

"I am nice! And a _little_ respect is what I give him. After everything he put me through…" It was quiet for a while, as Peter reflected on the years of chasing the elusive con man – how it affected his life, his work… _And now, all these years later, how the man he chased for so long, his arch-nemesis… had become more than a partner. More like a brother, really, whether I want to admit it or not… what might his future hold? …a little respect…a little trust…_ "Oh…"

Elizabeth watched him curiously. "Inspiration?"

He gave her a crafty smile. "I think so."

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oOo

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Neal stood next to Diana, watching curiously through the glass walls as Peter continued what was clearly a somewhat heated discussion with his boss. He leaned slightly toward his teammate. "What's going on in there?"

Diana poured her coffee and glanced subtly up at the conference room. "Not a clue. He's been in there for half an hour. Something is up." Sipping her brew, she looked at Neal and tried not to grin. "You in trouble again?"

The con man rolled his eyes. "I hope not." He saw Hughes look in his direction, and quickly busied himself with his own coffee. Following Diana back to the table where they joined Jones, they noticed he was keeping one eye on the conversation as well. "Anything?"

"Don't know," he said, not looking up and continuing to stack files by county of origin. "It almost looks like a budget thing."

"Budget?"

"Yeah. Last time Peter was campaigning like this to the boss, it was for extra manpower on a case. Remember?"

"Right, right…" Diana sat down and shrugged. "Well, if he doesn't get what he wants, he's going to be cranky. Let's get this done." The three teammates looked at each other, nodded, and got back to work… but Neal still found himself glancing back to his partner up in the office, and hoping everything was alright.

A few minutes later, Special Agent Peter Burke exited the conference room and stood by the table where his team was looking especially conscientious. "Okay, people, listen up. I've - got to run some errands."

Diana spoke first. "_Errands_?" The surprise in her voice made Peter give her a look.

"Yes, _errands_. I'll be back – probably before lunch. Neal?" He walked away with a gesture toward his partner. Neal looked at the others, shrugged, and rose to follow.

"So… what's up?"

Peter waved dismissively. "Nothing. Listen. When I get back, I'll need you with me for a while. We can grab lunch then." Neal stared at him, his eyes bright and questioning. "If that's okay, Mr. Caffrey?" Peter softened the comment with a constrained grin.

"Yeah, sure. I'll be here."

"Good." Without another word, Peter left. Neal stood and watched after him, then shook his head and returned to the team.

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oOo

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Peter was surprisingly quiet in the car as he drove. Not that he wasn't usually quiet – but Neal could tell there was something going on in his friend's mind, something that he wasn't quite ready to talk about. He had tossed off some comments about the cases they organized, about the color of Jones' shirt today – and Peter had responded, but nothing caught hold and started a conversation. He glanced sideways at his friend, and shook his head. _Friend_. There it was again. When would he have imagined that a federal agent, the man that sent him to prison for years – would become his best friend? He was reflecting on the odd turns that life takes when Peter parked the car and grabbed the bag with their lunch order in it.

"You coming?"

"Right behind you."

It was a beautiful, soft, sunny day, the kind that makes New York sparkle like a jewel. Spring was bringing a flush to the green heart of the city, and the scent of damp earth and growing things filled the air. The two men walked through Central Park, Peter leading them to a bench along the path, settled between two rocky outcroppings. The agent cleared his throat.

"So."

Neal looked over at Peter, gave him a startled grin. "He speaks!"

Burke gave him a droll look and put down his sandwich. "I've been thinking a lot about last week." He looked out over the landscape, and seemed to come to a decision. "I don't know that I ever thanked you properly, Neal." He looked at the younger man, and the sincerity in those brown eyes took the con man by surprise.

"Hey… we're partners, right? You would have done the same for me…" He said the words, but his eyes looked just a bit hesitant. Perhaps _hopeful_ was the better word.

Peter responded instantly. "I would have. You're right. And I want you to remember that." Reaching into his jacket pocket, he pulled out an envelope.

"Peter, you don't have to give me anything."

"This one isn't from me," he said, tapping the envelope on his palm. "It's a formal thank you from the Scottish Museum. They want to put your name on the exhibit, listing you as the man who recovered their treasure." Neal's eyes widened and Peter looked at him. "Neal, when you used that ring to try to buy my way out, I was happy. I was more than happy. I knew you had my back, and that was incredibly reassuring. I know the lengths you'll go to for – for important people in your life." He shifted a bit, clearly unsettled by being this open emotionally. "Moz told me what the ring was going to be." He paused. "I'm sorry, Neal." The younger man nodded, but didn't look away. "I was touched, sincerely. I can't imagine what you've had to give up. But when all was said and done, and you told me to return the ring to its rightful owners," Peter stopped, shook his head, and a smile spread across his face like a sunrise. "I don't think I've ever been so proud of you."

Neal looked at him for a long moment, and grinned boyishly as he looked away. "Well, thank you, Peter. That means a lot-"

"And El wants you to come to dinner tonight. There's one more thing… but it's at the house."

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That evening, Neal appeared at the Burke's door at seven o'clock sharp. He was smiling brightly, had, really, been smiling brightly all day. It wasn't often that he felt this proud of himself – or at least, perhaps, proud in this way. But somehow, if Peter felt that what he did was important… he rang the bell and waited.

Elizabeth opened the door and let him in, giving him a spontaneously large hug. "Hey," he said. "What's going on?" She just shook her head and smiled, and when Peter joined them at the door, she giggled, kissed her husband on the cheek, and dashed away to the kitchen. Neal looked after her and then frowned lightly at Peter. "Is she all right?"

Peter chuckled. "Yeah, she's fine. She's just excited about that." He pointed to the wall near the door, where there were several coat hooks. One looked new. "And that, I suppose." He motioned to the small stool that sat under the hooks.

Neal looked at it and his eyebrows peaked. "That? Really?"

"Yeah." Peter took a deep breath. "Listen, Neal… I was talking to Hughes today."

"I noticed. Heck, we all noticed. Is everything okay with you two?"

"Well… let's just say he thinks I'm a little crazy, but that's okay with me." The agent smirked, pointed to the plain brass coat hook and stool again. "Those are for you."

"Me?" Neal was sliding beyond puzzled. "And Elizabeth is excited because you got me a coat hook and a footstool?"

"Sort of." Reaching into his pocket, Peter pulled out a small key card and tapped the stool. "Let's see your anklet."

Neal frowned, but put his foot up on the stool. Peter lifted his cuff, unlocked the tracking device and hung it on the hook by the door. "Okay, here's the deal. From now on, when you're here… you're officially in my custody. So you don't have to wear that. Here."

Neal's eyes widened. "Are you serious? Is this… legal?"

Brown eyes met blue, and smiled. "_You're_ worrying if it's legal?" Peter laughed. "It took a little to convince Hughes. Don't get me in trouble, okay?" The agent stuck out his hand. "I trust you."

Neal Caffrey, con man extraordinaire, seemed genuinely shaken. Elizabeth came back in time to see him take Peter's hand, staring… and Peter clapped him on the back as they hugged. She laughed happily, her eyes sparkling. "Isn't this great? Let's eat."

The partners looked at each other, then followed her back into the kitchen. Peter put an arm around the younger man as they walked, and felt Neal take a shaky breath. He thought quickly, and spoke in an exaggerated tone. "Oh. And no 'accidentally forgetting to put it back on when you leave', got it?"

Neal, grateful for the return to banter, put on his best affronted look. "Peter. Would I do that?"

Peter rolled his eyes as he pulled out Elizabeth's chair, and grinned at the look in her eye when he leaned over to kiss her. As they began to pass the bowls around, and Elizabeth started the cheerful conversation, Neal crossed his ankles under the table and looked at his partner and friend… and felt for the first time, in a long, long time, like he was coming home.

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thanks for reading!


	3. Power Play:  Score

I apologize for the extreme shortness of this one - but it wanted to be up before the finale. Excelsior.

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oOo **_POWER PLAY: SCORE_** oOo

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_I'm moving on._

The thought echoed through his mind again, as he watched Elizabeth greet Peter. He watched, as in essence, they renewed their marriage. As easily as slipping the ring back onto his finger. As comfortably as leaning in with a smile to kiss the love of his life. So different from any of the relationships he was familiar with…

He watched them with a wistful smile. _I wonder if there will ever be anything to move on to._

Turning, he walked away.

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oOo

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"Well. You must be doing something right."

Neal blinked back to his partner over the files spilling across the conference table. Dead ends seemed to be everywhere. The elusive Nazi collector, nowhere. "Sorry, what? I haven't gotten anywhere on this… unless I'm missing something you're seeing." He looked back down at the papers, his eyes scanning hopefully for the missing link.

Special Agent Peter Burke shook his head as he watched. "I'm talking about Sara."

"Sara?"

"Come on, Neal," Peter sighed. "The woman took down time to go to _Argentina_."

Neal shrugged. "It's a case…I'm sure she needed to do some research for herself…"

"A case? Come on, Neal…" The agent chuckled softly as his friend looked at him blankly. "Fine. Let's just figure out where this guy has disappeared to."

Neal sat back and watched Peter sip his coffee as he opened another file. He paused for a long moment, thinking. "Peter."

"Yes, Neal."

"Are you trying to say something about Sara?"

Peter looked up, brown eyes sparkling in amusement at the welcome distraction. "Trying, failing, giving up hopelessly… What's that quote? '_There are none so blind as those who will not see_…'… who was that? A song, I think… Where's Mozzie when I need him?" He looked out the window, and quickly back to Neal. "And don't you _ever_ tell Moz I said that."

Neal frowned and leaned forward again. "Wait. You're saying that there may be another reason for her to want to get this information?" Peter couldn't help but notice the evidence of disappointment on his partner's face. "What could she be getting out of this? Do you know what her angle is?"

Peter shook his head as he saw the disappointment blossoming. He raised his hand. "Stop."

"What?" Neal's eyes, bright and confused, looked at him.

The agent sighed again, staring at Neal as he sipped from his mug. "Neal. You have to accept the fact that not _everyone_ has an angle… or at least, not everyone has one that's _bad_."

The young con man frowned. "Wait. You're telling me there's such a thing as a good angle? You, the lawman, the boy scout - and remember, she tried to kill me."

"Only because you were going to kill her first." The coffee mug was placed carefully, hesitantly on the table. "I'm going to regret this," Peter mumbled, not quite to himself. He leaned toward Neal and spoke quietly. "You remember hearing about when I first met El?"

"Sure. You were investigating…" He stopped, blinked. "You had her checked out. You were having her watched."

"I was watching her. And I admit to that only in this room," Peter said quickly. "But Neal… think about it. Use that clever, crafty brain of yours for a minute. What was my angle?"

"Well, the case…"

"Yes. The case. And?..."

His partner stared for a moment, slowly putting two and two together. A smile started somewhere in his eyes, and ended with a suspicious dimple. "Oh… " he looked dubious, hopeful, and thoughtful in rapid succession. "Really? I mean…you think?"

The older agent nodded. "Yeah. I think. How do _you _feel about that?"

"Hmh."

They perused the files for a few minutes before Neal shifted uneasily. Peter looked up, sensing something was coming, and waited. "Yes?"

Giving up any pretense, Neal looked him in the eye. "Do you ever worry?"

Peter snorted a laugh. "You have to ask?"

"No, I mean… I mean about Elizabeth." Peter's expression grew serious as he listened. "Do you ever worry that something could happen to her?"

The agent's response was a whisper. "Every day. Every single day."

"So how do you deal with it? I mean… I don't know... the idea of getting involved with someone at all..."

Peter watched as hope gave way to despair in the younger man's face once more. "Listen, Neal… I'll tell you something a very wise woman told me a long time ago."

"What's that?"

The agent pursed his lips with some amusement as he remembered. "She said, '_Listen, Peter. Who I want to spend my life with is none of your business, so I'd appreciate it if you'd just realize I'm an adult who can make my own decisions, and get over the fact that you have some big dangerous job. Plenty of people have dangerous jobs and get married, and plenty more get hit by a car crossing the street. Life's too short to worry._'" They both smiled for a moment. "Elizabeth knew what she was getting into, and she didn't think it was more important than we were. She said she wanted to be happy, and that I…." A deeply sentimental look misted over his eyes. "I love her even more for that."

Neal watched him for a long moment. "You're a lucky man."

"I know."

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oOo

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The records room for 1946 was quiet. Neal sat back and focused on the vision of Sara Ellis, who had just, in no uncertain terms, told him exactly what her angle was. _ 'Maybe you can get some closure on Kate'._ He couldn't believe this woman who had almost shot him when they first met was going to such lengths to … _come on, Caffrey. Let's be frank. She's showing that she cares._ Then the lights flickered, died. In a moment, they were face to face, her eyes luminous in the dim light, his smile glimmering. Their lips met, and sheer desire found buttons and closures opening under willing fingertips. His heart raced as he found her in the darkness, feeling, truly feeling for the first time in a long time. Not fear, not anguish or grief… but a warm, delicious desire to make someone happy. To let someone know he cared, too… The lights came back, far too soon.

"Sorry," she whispered, looking, for the first time since he met her, a little shy, a little nervous.

He smiled. "Don't be."

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Looking forward to the finale!


	4. Under the Radar: What Dreams May Come

Ah. Perhaps, _un_like Neal, I cannot tell a lie: I was disappointed at the end of the season closer. I understand the canon mentality that says these two characters can never fully trust each other, but at the same time… well. I was disappointed at the total breakdown in communication once more. I suppose I hoped they were beyond that.

With that in mind, I wanted some closure for myself – to last until the summer, anyway - and not being sure where all this is heading, this was all I could find. Opinions, as ever, welcome.

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_**UNDER THE RADAR: WHAT DREAMS MAY COME**

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oOo

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Neal ambled in a daze up the stairs to his apartment, still in shock, although a part of him was fuming. All the riches in the world, it seemed, and he had the key. _Amazing._ There were a lot of decisions to be made in the next few days - but right now, there was a numbing buzz running through his brain, making him incapable of clear thought.

Adler had nearly killed him… the man who supposedly saw him as a _son_, the man who made him what he was today, nearly put a bullet through him. _Not much irony there._ And it was _Peter_, of course, Peter the brave, Peter the noble, Peter the quick-to-condemn, who had saved his life. Peter, who had captured him, befriended him, and protected him, kept him alive again – in time to accuse him of betrayal once more.

_I wonder if I'll ever really get him to trust me…_

He poured a glass of Shiraz after hiding the key rather automatically, and sat back on the sofa, staring out the window as the sky over New York slowly turned from misty blue to the pearly charcoal gray that passed for night in a city that doesn't sleep. He felt cold, a little shaky, and knew that the shock of the last two days - the physical and emotional beating he had experienced, was taking its toll. _The beating _we_ had. _ His partner had gotten into the limo with him… wouldn't leave him stranded. Wouldn't stay behind when he needed help disarming the sub. _ I wonder how Peter is holding up. He hates having to shoot…_ Immediately annoyed with his own emotions for betraying him with sympathy, he tipped his glass back to empty it, and refilled it unconsciously. He coughed, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and drank again.

_Probably not the most healthy way to go, but who cares?_ Diana had said he should get checked over, after everything that had happened, from the explosion to being nearly shot – but he had walked away, anxious to get away from the scene of destruction, anger, death… distrust…

Somehow his glass was empty again, as was the bottle. He staggered to the kitchen counter, picked up a bottle of Pinot, stared blearily at the label. _ No._ He put it down firmly, the noise ringing in the large room. _Elizabeth and Peter gave me that one, after the last case… said they were so proud_… drawing a ragged breath, he snatched another bottle blindly, opened it, and filled his glass again. Somehow he found his way back to the couch, pulling a throw over him as he set the wine on the coffee table. He blinked, the room fading to black as his consciousness ebbed.

o:o:o

_In a blurry, cock-eyed version of reality, he stood facing his old boss. The steel barrel of Adler's gun yawned like an abstract, hungry mouth in his line of sight, blocking everything else. Neal felt, more than heard, the cocking mechanism slide a bullet into the chamber. In a topsy-turvy perspective, he saw inside the barrel, saw the slug, saw his name on it. _

He shuddered, even in his sleep, his body pulling the blanket closer fitfully.

_In his dream he lifted his hands in a futile effort to stop the inevitable… when abruptly, a voice called out. "Adler. Drop it. It's over." Relief poured through Neal's veins as he realized his partner was there, had it in control, had – _

_Adler spun impossibly fast, his image shattering into a thousand spiraling pieces only to coalesce again with the gun pointing at Special Agent Peter Burke. In stop-action animation, Neal saw the name on the lump of lead change. "Only over for you, Burke." He saw Adler's trigger finger squeeze down -_

_"No!" The gun went off and Neal began running, watching in slow motion as the slug penetrated the chest of his friend, blood spurting in a horrifying, unnatural way. Peter slumped to the ground, trying hopelessly to lift his gun to return fire. The weapon dropped from lifeless fingers as his left hand tried to cover the gaping hole in his chest, blood spilling hot across his hand, trickling sickly across a shining gold band. "Peter-" Neal ran frantically, unable to reach him, no matter how he tried. Stuck in amber, stuck in time. "Peter!" _

_Adler's laugh broke the world into fragments once more, and Neal turned to see his face, contorted in sick amusement. "Looks like you killed another one, Caffrey. Nice job."_

_And suddenly Neal was standing over his partner, dropping to his knees as he watched the life drain away. Brown eyes full of pain turned to see him, and Peter's hand reached out as he ground out a harsh whisper. "I trusted you."_

_Neal grabbed his hand, panic roaring through him like fire and ice. "Peter, no…" The agent pulled his hand away, and his eyes grew glassy, lost their focus. _

Neal screamed.

o:o:o

The con man woke up with a jerk, blue eyes wild as his hands clutched hopelessly at his covers. He gasped a breath, then another, and ran his hands back through his sweat-matted hair. Slowly, he felt some grasp of reality returning. Pulling off the tangled blanket, he draped it across his shoulders against the chill he felt inside and stood, picking up his glass and taking a few shaky steps to look out the windows.

Dawn's gray light was beginning to seep into the night, and black clouds were squeezing out the first tears of a storm. He shivered, blinking out at the dawn, and took another breath. After years of being a loner, he never thought he would long for his partner's calm advice. _If only my partner was calm._ Resting his forehead against the cool glass, he stared, unsure, into the foreboding dark of a new day.

* * *

oOo

oOoOo

oOo

* * *

Diana drove her boss home, taking her time. It was _procedure_. After the debriefing, after scheduling with the departmental counselor, after spending a little quiet time with your boss - someone drove you home. In the FBI, you didn't kill a man and then go out for drinks to celebrate.

Peter considered himself lucky. He could still count the number of men he'd shot – _no, be honest with yourself, Burke_ – the number of men he'd _killed_ on one hand. Adler was scum and then some, but still…

"You need to stop for anything, Peter?" Diana's voice was soft, soothing.

_I wonder if I've ever told her that. Maybe tomorrow._

"No. Thanks."

They drove in silence, New York quieting down for the night after a big day. Diane glanced at her boss out of the corner of her eye and took a deep breath, fought back a sigh. _Such a good man._ She wanted to say something, anything to comfort him, but words were not forthcoming. Finally, after they stopped in front of the Burke house and she got out and came around the car to see him in, she softly touched his arm. "You did what you had to do, Peter."

He stared at the sidewalk for a long moment. When he looked up, she recognized his most professionally polite expression. "Thank you, Diana. And thanks for the ride."

"Peter…"

He forced a somewhat more natural grin, brushed his hand over her shoulder, nodded, and walked up the steps to where his wife stood, waiting.

Elizabeth had of course gotten the call from Hughes about what happened. It was only fair for her to know what was going on, and to be ready for the emotional backwash, when and if it came. She opened the door, walked him inside, and held him tightly. At first, he stiffened unnaturally in her arms, but after a few moments, when she didn't let go, he relaxed, dropping his head to her shoulder. Her hands rubbed his back, quietly waiting. Finally, he spoke.

"I'm really tired, El."

She pulled back to look at him, and smiled sadly. "I know, sweetheart. Come on."

He walked upstairs slowly to change into something softer, something more comfortable. Something that didn't make him think of work quite so much. Something that wasn't a _suit_. Elizabeth went with him, and they made small talk about the dog and her work until they were sitting on the couch in front of the fireplace. Then the conversation tapered off abruptly, and she let him settle for a moment.

"Reese said you had to talk to the counselor -"

"Yeah. I'm fine. '_Responding within expected parameters for the situation'_. Gave me a clean bill."

"Just you?" She knew from his expression that she had stepped into dangerous waters. "And how's Neal?"

"I have no idea." He stared at the coffee table in front of them, and his expression darkened. She waited. Over the course of the next half hour, he told her the whole story, how they had traveled to the collection of warehouses, began the search. How he had kept Neal out of them, just in case, to keep him safe. He got as far as hearing the explosions on the dock. As far as firing his weapon. As far as realizing Neal might have planned the biggest con of them all, one that was two years in the making.

Then he stopped.

Elizabeth nodded, running her hand over the back of his head and down his shoulders. "Okay. It's okay, Peter."

"No, it's not. I can't believe I let him play me again. I can't believe he's used me, all this time, just to pull this heist. But I guess billions of dollars are more important than –"

His wife stopped him, her voice a little shocked. "Peter… this is _Neal_ you're talking about."

"Exactly."

She shook her head in disbelief. "But you know you can trust him on the important things."

Peter barked something that might have been a laugh. "It's not that _simple_, El. It's very, very possible that for the year and a half we've been working together, he's been setting this up. All of it. Yes, all this time."

Elizabeth spoke gently. "But it can't be that _complicated_, either. Come on, Peter. It's Neal. Are you going to tell me that you wouldn't have been able to tell, after all this time working so closely, that he wasn't on your side? Are you seriously trying to tell me that you wouldn't have felt it in your gut?" Peter put a hand over his eyes wearily, and she rubbed his back. "I'm sorry, but you're a better agent than that. A wiser man."

"No, it's all right. You're right, too. I'm not that stupid. I hope I'm not… I just don't know what to think…" His face fell, and he stared down at the floor. "El…there's something else."

"Yes?" She could feel him growing unsteady, and waited.

He shifted uncomfortably, stopped, shook his head. "I shot Adler in the back."

"Oh, honey…" She pulled him closer and he leaned into her, his face pressed against her neck as she rocked him gently. "What a horrible decision to have to make. But you know it was the right one. He would have killed Neal."

He took a shaky breath. "I wish I was sure. Of something."

For a time they sat on the couch. Then they moved upstairs, neither one hungry enough to eat. As they moved to lay on the bed together, Elizabeth felt Peter's breathing slowly settle as he drifted into exhausted slumber. She remained close beside him, keeping watch, unable to sleep herself.

o:o:o

_Images came crashing over his mind in waves, like a horror movie made personal. A garden path, walking to meet with someone who was conspicuously not there. The turn in his gut when he got the call. A gun in a limo, casually insisting that he drink. Blackness, dizziness. A war beaten submarine, ridiculously large out of its natural environment. The images swirled to a halt, leaving him dizzy._

_Abruptly, he and Neal were leaning over an open deck, staring at antique wiring. His partner looked at him, suddenly serious._

_"Peter, if this doesn't work…"_

_He looked up, made sincere contact with those eyes, felt the immense history rush between them. Felt the care, the concern. The trust. Partners. Friends. Brothers. There was nothing else to say. "Me too."_

Peter shifted in his sleep and Elizabeth took his hand. He moaned softly as his fingers twined between hers, and she brushed his hair back from his forehead. She whispered, "It's alright, sweetheart. I'm here. You're safe."

_Explosions. Gray clouds rising in the still air. Peter began to run. He ran until his breath came in ragged gasps, until his legs ached with the exertion. Turning a corner he saw, towering above the warehouses, the Chrysler building, burning. Suspicion sang through him as he looked back to the door of a warehouse, saw two men in suits. He looked up again at the tall building in flames, wanting desperately to find a way to save it- and looked down again, as one man pointed a gun threateningly at the other. He heard Neal's voice, tried to aim…_

_His vision blurred, the heat of the massive, burning building causing waves in the air. He blinked, shot – and the man fell dead. Running forward, Peter holstered his gun and rolled the body over with the toe of his shoe._

_A few black curls fell down over unseeing blue eyes, still brilliant in death. The agent dropped to his knees, unbelieving._

Peter cried out.

o:o:o

"Neal."

Flashing brown eyes jerked open with a gasp, scaring Elizabeth more than his cry had. "Peter?"

Her husband blinked wildly, looking around their bedroom as if he'd never seen it.

"Peter, wake up. It was a dream."

Special Agent Peter Burke panted like he had been running, slowly caught his breath and focused on his wife. "Elizabeth…" He grabbed her as if she were his only hope of sanity.

"It's alright, Peter. It's alright." She made soothing noises as she held him. "Tell me what happened. I'm here."

Peter clung to her for long minutes as he tried to calm himself. Even so, his voice cracked when he spoke. "I shot him."

"Adler?" she asked, softly.

"No," he whispered. "Neal. I shot him. I shot him in the back. As if _he_ were the scumbag... I didn't mean to." His hand pushed back through his hair, fitfully. "I swear… I didn't mean to…" He was so exhausted that he felt himself, albeit fearfully, lapsing into sleep once more.

"Oh, sweetheart… it was a dream. Just a dream." She blinked back her tears, smoothing his hair. "I'm right here. Everything will be okay. I promise."

Peter shifted to rest his head on El's shoulder, letting her hold him together. Through his exhaustion his mumbled, "He's got to tell me what happened… he just has to..."

Elizabeth stroked his head until she felt him drift off again. Lying with him, knowing she would be awake until morning, she exhaled a breath she didn't know she had been holding. Softly she whispered into her husband's hair. "I know he will, Peter. I know it will all make sense, soon."

Deep in her heart, she hoped she was right.

* * *

oOo

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please feed the author...


	5. On Guard: Feint Left

My first episode tag for Season 3.

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oOo

_**On Guard: Feint Left**_

oOo

* * *

Peter stared at the plate in front of him, his fork making inconclusive swipes across the nearly empty circle. His wife refilled their wine glasses, looked at him, and sighed quietly.

"What're you thinking, handsome?"

Startled, he looked up at her, brown eyes wide. "What?"

"Peter…" She looked at him sternly, then smiled sympathetically when he returned her gaze with sincere confusion. He was so far gone by now, it was almost sad. "Sweetheart, you've been out of it for most of the night. You going to tell me what's happening in there, or do I have to break something?"

He looked at her, saw the love in her eyes that he had grown to depend on, and dropped his head. "I'm sorry… I really do appreciate you getting that scrap tested… are you sure it won't be -"

"Not a problem. Just tell me what you're thinking."

His lips quirked into a grin. "As if you didn't know."

"I know that it's about Neal, that much is easy," she responded softly, taking another sip of wine. "But I don't know what you're thinking now."

Peter nodded, put down his fork, and lifted his glass to her. "What would I do without you?"

She gave him a look that turned into a smirk. "I have no idea. Start talking, Agent Burke."

He leaned back in his chair, swirling the wine gently in the glass. "El, I just don't know what to do… I'm sure he had _something_ to do with everything vanishing."

"But you're not sure what?"

He nodded, staring at the table top. "Exactly. I know he knows something… something he's not telling me."

Elizabeth chuckled softly. "Nothing really new there, hon."

"I know…"

She watched his expression change slightly, and waited. No one was as devoted to things he cared about as Peter Burke- it was one of the things she adored about him. His wife, his job… his friends – they were utterly important to him. Neal had somehow made the transition from job to friend, from opponent to partner, and there was no way her husband could look at him or anything he did dispassionately.

Perhaps it was because Peter had studied the con man for so long, hunted him for so long… the agent had gone beyond the job, had needed to open the door of his heart and soul to track this one down – to really understand him - and it almost seemed that Neal had simply moved in to that space once he had been captured. As if the young con man had been touched, _impressed_ even, by the unshakeable, trustworthy devotion of Peter Burke. It was a phenomenon that Elizabeth could understand all too well. She took a deep breath, and sipped her wine. "What are you going to do?"

"Do?" He looked up at her, almost surprised. "What _can_ I do?"

"Oh, Peter… you can do any number of things, and you know it. I just want to know what the plan is, so… " She paused. The phrase 'so I can help you any way I can' is what came to her mind, but wasn't anything she really needed to say. "I want to know what you're planning. I know sometimes it helps when you talk it out."

He nodded, stared for a while longer. "True." He stood up and picked up their plates, as she took the serving dish and silverware back to the kitchen. "Okay. I know that Neal doesn't tell me everything."

"Right."

"But I know that he's there… " there was a long pause, and she finished for him.

"For the important things?"

"Yes." They passed each other as they put things away, and he leaned over to kiss her. "But I also know this is _huge_. If he does have the opportunity… if he can pull this heist off…" Peter shook his head, and El took the napkins from his distracted hands. "I don't know how he can just walk away from it. Not when this has been his whole life."

Elizabeth nodded, walking back through the dining room. She picked up their glasses and the half-empty bottle as she passed, and moved on toward the couch. "I can see that, given that it's been all he's known for so long… but what about the life he knows now?" She put the bottle and glasses on the coffee table, and sat on the floor in front of the couch, leaning comfortably against it.

Peter stared for a moment, then sat next to her on the floor. "The life he knows now?" He frowned. "Can you give me an example?"

"Sure," she said, tossing her hair back and refilling their glasses. "He's discovered a whole new world because of you. Being on the other side. Being able to be just as clever, but one of the good guys... Don't you think that will make a difference?"

Her husband stared thoughtfully at the garnet whirlpool in his glass as he swirled it. "I don't know, El. But…"

She grinned. "Yes?"

He looked at her, and couldn't help but return her smile. She knew him too well. "I can't imagine him walking away from the treasure… but I can't imagine him pulling off this heist, either. And more than anything, I can't imagine him conning me with any seriously _bad_ intent all this time, pretending we're in this together all this time…"

She exhaled a breath she didn't know she had been holding, and leaned close to him. "I can't tell you how glad I am to hear you say that."

"You should have seen him, El. He looked so… hurt. Angry, even. He looked like I had betrayed his trust, instead of the other way around…" He kissed her on the nose. "But what if I'm wrong? What if –"

"Peter. You're smarter than that…"

He kissed her again. "You're good for morale. But I'm serious, El. What if he really _has_ been conning me all this time? What if I'm just getting soft? What if I'm so used to believing that we're friends now, I'm not seeing the whole picture?"

For a long moment, Elizabeth stared. Then she looked down at the wine in her hand, unable to look any longer into those hurt, questioning eyes. Finally she took a breath and asked, "Do you really believe that? Do you really believe that Neal Caffrey, who has become the best –" she paused, grinned to herself, and glanced at him quickly, "The _second_ best partner you've ever had… do you truly believe he will betray your trust on this scale? Put you in a position to lose everything? Because if you really, truly believe that's possible, I'll call Reese right now."

They looked into each other's eyes for a long time, until Peter finally shook his head. "If I could just be sure that he was taking the time to think this through…"

"So make sure he does."

He frowned slightly. "Right. Any idea how I might accomplish that?"

Her eyes sparkled up at him. "What would Neal do?"

"Right."

"I'm serious. What would he do? If he really _were_ being tempted to do this, what would his next move be? You know him better than anyone…"

Peter stared into his wineglass once more, and she waited. After a few minutes, he spoke quietly, sounding much more like the agent who chased down the con man. "Caffrey likes things tidy. If he _is_ part of a scheme to take off with everything, he'll want it to be a clean break. He'll do his best to make it one." Brown eyes lifted to look out toward the windows. "He knows I'm suspicious. He'll want to get me to relax my guard, trust that he's not going to do anything… He'll be a little paranoid." His eyes lit up as he grinned. "Let's use that to our advantage. If he thinks I know something, and that's why I don't trust him, he'll be watching me like a hawk. Even if I don't know everything he's going to do, all I have to do is _appear_ to be one step ahead of him. And at the same time, act on the assumption that he's going to be a step ahead of me. Just like when I was tracking him down."

Elizabeth quirked a grin. "You're making it sound like a game."

He nodded, seriously. "And we're all playing. For keeps." He slipped his arm around her shoulder. "Are you in, Mrs. Burke?"

She laughed. "Oh, Mr. Burke. It's _so_ on."

oOo

Elizabeth was a bit surprised when she opened the door and saw Neal standing there. It took her a moment to adjust to the game, moving the book of art so that he couldn't see it, speaking carefully about Peter being angry. And Neal was _good_, she had to admit. She felt her guard dropping, until he pointedly asked her for milk for his coffee… a moment that oddly, took her abruptly back to her college days.

She had a friend back then who was aspiring to be a professional magician, who she helped out with on his shows. He was good – there were times when she doubted her own eyes as he performed, even knowing how he did the illusions. After a performance, they would go out for a beer and talk about how it had gone, and his first question was always, 'did it look suspicious', meaning, was there anything about the way he moved, where his hands were, or what he said that might make the audience wonder if something was going on. Everything had to look completely necessary, completely sincere, or the audience could be taken out of the moment of trust…

Something about the way Neal asked for milk was suspicious. She couldn't say just what it was, but it was there…

The thoughts all flew by in the moments it took for her to get the cream pitcher from the fridge and return. _Did she imagine that she heard him moving behind her?_ They chatted for a few more minutes before he finished his coffee, and made his excuses to leave.

Elizabeth wondered, as she closed the door after him, what Peter would think of this…

* * *

oOo

* * *

When all was said and done, Peter walked up the stairs and stood for a moment at the door, taking a deep breath to calm the thoughts that were still see-sawing through his brain. It had been a hell of a week.

He had been so angry, so frustrated… and now, they had done it again. _They_. He and Neal, the star team of the white collar division. Without the con man's expert planning and role playing, they never would have caught this guy, not to mention recovering the money. Without Peter's ability to cover all the bases, to mobilize the FBI crew, to point his partner in the right direction… the agent sighed. When they were on a case, working together, it was so easy to just… just work together. Now that this one had closed, all the suspicions lined up once more.

_Neal knew something he wasn't telling about the treasure…_

_Yes, but the lab test came back positive for an old painting…_

_True, but even there, he could have pulled something off… hell, I remember him finding the wax for that wine bottle…_

In the end, it all narrowed down to one question.

_Do I really believe he's planning to throw it all away?_

The agent sighed, shook his head and knocked gently on the door. When no one answered, he tried the knob, which opened easily under his hand.

As he walked in, slowly, he couldn't help but think there was something odd about the apartment. El might have said 'suspicious', given their conversation the other day… something just seemed odd. Neal was always tidy, but this seemed even less lived-in than usual. As if he was already gone… except there was a stack of canvases arranged near the door to the balcony –

_Wait. Seriously?_

Peter walked over and looked at the paintings. A faint scent of fresh paint hung in the air, but then, in Neal's apartment, it often did. The corner of one canvas caught his eye, and he slipped it out from behind the others.

_And… here it is. So. It didn't burn… but then, he knew I'd look here, didn't he? He even left it partially hidden, to make it obvious that he wasn't hiding it _or_ displaying it…_

He tilted his head as he looked out the window at the Chrysler building.

_Am I being really, really clever, really astute, or just paranoid?_

He was suddenly aware of someone behind him. _Neal_.

_Of course he waited until I found it…_

Without a case to meld them, they exchanged stilted small talk. Peter watched the younger man's eyes, saw the edge of defiance, the slick veneer of confidence. His mind jumped back to a conversation they had at the office, when Neal had looked him in the eye and said, 'We're on the same team'.

At the time, Peter was amazed at how sincere the con sounded. Now, he realized it was because he _was_ sincere. They may have different styles… but they were a team when it came to having each others back, to knowing what was _right_. When the job was clear in front of them, yes, _they were a team_.

Peter laughed.

"I'm calling a truce…"

_That's right, my friend. A truce. Because you know I wouldn't be convinced this easily. Because you'll wonder just what it is that I know, why I'm acting like everything is fine now… and that'll slow you down, make you think. And if you think long and hard enough, you'll know that you don't ever want to go back to just being a con… and I know this, because I know you better than anyone does. _

_Even better than you know yourself._

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_please feed the author…_


	6. Where There's a Will:  Sound Mind

_Season 3 Ep 2 checks in with Neal's point of view. With thanks to those who read and review..._

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oOo

_**Where There's a Will: Sound Mind**_

oOo

* * *

Neal sat at the table in the exceedingly grand room, pulling a jewelers loupe from his pocket and giving the will a cursory glance before studying the signatures. In his peripheral vision he could see the girl hop up on the seat next to Peter, and heard their conversation, which made him grin just a bit. Clearly the agent had a soft spot for children… but then, there wasn't much Neal could say about that. Little Savannah was a charmer, and her father would probably have to buy a shotgun before she was fifteen. What was it about Peter, though, that the ladies – of _any_ age, it seemed – found so attractive?

He returned his study to the documents, but nearly laughed when he heard the agent trying to honestly explain what his tracking anklet was for. _Good old Peter, telling the truth even when –_

His train of thought was broken when Agent Burke stopped, saw that the little girl couldn't possibly understand, and rephrased. "I gave it to him. It's so I don't lose him."

Neal's eyebrows lifted. There was a ring of truth in that statement that gave him pause.

Shaking his head, he returned to his work. "These are both forgeries…"

* * *

oOo

* * *

The next day, Neal nodded to several workers as he trotted up the stairs of the FBI building, thinking of the view Mozzie had given him from his laptop at home.

It was a bit of a delicate balance, being partners in crime. Mozzie had set up the 'treasure cam' so that Neal could see the horde that belonged to them both, supposedly… but Neal couldn't help but think, as he looked at the static picture, how easy it would be to fake a live feed. Still, he trusted Moz… for a given value of trust. _ Not the way I trust Peter, of course. _ The thought had popped into his mind too quickly to stop, and Neal shook his head, forcefully pushing the thought away and focusing instead on the job ahead of him.

Yet the con man was smiling broadly as he walked into the office. The mood was rather spoiled when he realized he was really _happy_, and not acting. When had he found honest work so damn _enjoyable_? It was spoiled a bit more when he saw the art crimes agent from DC in Peter's office. He tried to ask what was going on, but Peter was inordinately cheerful, letting nothing slip. He simply redirected Neal to the puzzle of the will. They shared a common fascination for puzzles, although Neal was nothing like as giddy as Peter was about them. Peter was clearly having the time of his life, and loving every curious minute of discovery.

_Is that why you chased me for so long? Just because I'm a real, living, breathing puzzle? But... why are you so calm about the treasure these days? Why do you seem to think I'm not going anywhere? Do you have evidence enough to put me away already? What do you _know_, Agent Burke? _

The agent's calm was clearly pointing to something. _Everything points to something._ Now what could it be? The con man felt like he was losing his edge, if not his mind. He should be a step ahead of the feds, not the other way around…

oOo

Hours later he stood at the sundial in the park, treasure hunting and puzzle solving with the three most important people in his life as his thoughts churned mercilessly. There was only so much he could say to Mozzie without upsetting the little man, which was the last thing he wanted to do. Elizabeth was fair and just, but her loyalty obviously was with Peter - and as for the agent himself… well. There wasn't really much Neal could say to the man about the troubles he and Moz were having while trying to arrange their escape with billions in Nazi plunder. He frowned, trying to focus on the job in front of them, but his eyes returned to rest on Peter. Sometimes the artist in his mind worked overtime.

Peter, who stood there tall and proud, holding an antique sextant in his hands. Peter, who with only a brush stroke or two of the mind became the captain of a massive triple-rigged sailing ship, calling orders to his crew with calm confidence, navigating the rough waters and taking on the responsibility of leadership with thoughtful assurance. Peter, who...

_Do I want to be his trusted second-in-command, or captain of my own ship – even if that makes me a pirate?_

Neal was considering it all as Peter's happy moment was broken with the ring of a phone. Savannah had been kidnapped.

oOo

It was strange, the most high-tech kidnapping they had seen. A live video feed of a helpless little girl, trusting that she would be fine. Neal saw the tension in Peter's face, felt it in the air - although it didn't slow the agent down one bit. As his stomach churned, he almost envied the agent's ability to remain calm, channeling the anger he felt into constructive action.

It was almost unnerving, the way Agent Burke seemed to ignore the tension between them when there was something more important on the line. _Does he trust me or not? How can he work like this?_

Clearly they had to divide their forces; one heading up the kidnapping while the other sought out the genuine will. Neal spoke in a suspiciously casual voice as Peter deferred the search for the will to him, with just a touch of sarcasm glinting through. "Are you saying you trust me enough to continue without you?"

Peter turned his head without hesitation, looking his partner in the eye. "Neal. We've got to get Savannah back. For that, I trust you completely."

Neal felt like it was a pat on the back and a slap in the face at the same time – although he suspected it was his conscience that felt the slap.

He could hear it in the agent's voice. That trust was real. Why else would Peter have let him get on the phone with Gelles? Let him push hard enough to break the man? As it was, when the timer onscreen counted down to zero, and the video feed went black, Neal watched James break down and felt as though he had jumped off a building. If something happened to that little girl because of him… the sick sensation evaporated abruptly as Gelles walked into the room, ordering all the officers out. Once they were in the thick of it, he felt his senses realign, every moment becoming crystalline and clear.

Clinton Jones looked at Neal Caffrey from across the room, and their eyes locked. With a barely perceptible nod, Neal took on the responsibility of being in charge, of being the agent in the room… of being the captain of this ship. In an eerie, surreal moment, he felt like he was channeling Peter. As James and Josh searched for the photograph, Neal turned with thinly disguised disgust to Gelles, and found himself speaking with sarcastic condescension to a fellow criminal.

"All packed and ready to go?"

"I'll go when I'm ready. You can't touch me."

The con man nodded sagely.

"I'm sure you've got it all under control. What could possibly go wrong?"

Neal felt something stirring inside. It was almost, _almost_ like talking to a mirror, even though he would never have put anyone - let alone a child - in danger. Still, the man's words sounded too familiar… and when he himself spoke again, it was all he could do to keep his voice calm. To keep from shouting the words that he realized he had been thinking over and over again, that were pounding through his mind.

"Crime isn't the hard part. The hard part's getting away with it. See, you never know how an investigation is going to go. Or what little clues you might actually leave behind."

He felt a chill sweep over him, as if the voice wasn't his. As if it actually was Peter Burke speaking. Not in anger, not with a thirst for vengeance. Just stating a fact.

"I hope you learn to sleep with one eye open."

The words echoed in his head. Was this what he feared? Was it just the fear of being captured and imprisoned again that made him so hesitant about following through with Mozzie? _Is it just down to whether or not I can be a successful criminal?_

When the phone buzzed in his pocket, it was as if a huge weight lifted from his shoulders, and the roller coaster screeched to a halt.

_We've got Savannah_

* * *

o

oOo

o

* * *

The warm sunset was spilling through the windows, turning the dining room gold as Peter grinned happily, relating the story. "And as soon as we got her out, I texted Neal and called Jones to take him down. Oh, here –" He pulled out his cell phone and turned it to show his wife. She took the phone to look more closely.

"Oooh… she's adorable. Savannah?" Her lips quirked in a grin. "You don't often get pictures of yourself holding victims, do you? I mean, without someone being in handcuffs."

He shrugged. "It was just to get a picture of the anklet."

"Of course. And you _had_ to be holding her for that, with her arms wrapped around your neck..."

"Well… " he said quickly, sheepishly dabbing at his lips with a napkin. "We were trying to make her comfortable. You know how it is. I mean, she's just a kid, and she'd been through…" He looked up, embarrassed, in time to see her cover a laugh, trying in vain to keep a straight face as she spoke.

"It's alright, hon. I'm not _really_ jealous. I know it's just one of those things you have to do for a case… Although she does seem a bit _young_ for you…"

He dropped his shoulders and stared at her, his lips compressed against a smile. "Why do I get the feeling you _really_ enjoy making me uncomfortable about other women?"

"Look at the bright side. At least you didn't have to flirt with this one." She put the phone down, stood up and walked behind him, wrapping her arms around his neck and kissing his ear with a grin. "Just keeping you honest, sweetheart." He wrapped an arm up over her, and they stayed that way for a moment, enjoying the warmth. Then she gave him a squeeze before standing and walking to the kitchen.

"Speaking of honest… how did Neal do when Jones left him in charge?"

Peter sat back with a sigh. "He was _amazing_, El. I couldn't have done it better myself." He paused, and spoke more quietly. "We couldn't have done it without him."

Walking back in with two mugs of coffee, she sat down and shook her head. "Did he notice Agent Matthews?"

"Ha! Did he ever…" His smile was just a bit crooked, and it made Elizabeth laugh. "And to top it off, I think he was actually jealous that I called in another art expert."

"Peter Burke. And here you say I like to make _you_ uncomfortable…" With a loving look at her husband, she lifted her mug to toast his success. "Congratulations. Although I think you may be enjoying this just a bit too much."

"Thanks, but it's still touch and go." Peter lifted his mug in turn before sipping his coffee. "Just trying to keep him honest."

oOo

Neal sat in his dark, quiet apartment, staring at the monitor. There, on the screen, was more treasure, more riches than most men could imagine.

A strange voice in his head spoke up.

_Really? Worth more than… this?_

His artist's imagination changed the view on the screen to one he had watched earlier.

_Suddenly he saw a small girl calling for her father, frightened and alone, trusting him to come and find her. To save her. Then he saw her smile as Peter lifted her up, cradled her safely in his arms. Heard the calm, reassuring voice. 'Your Daddy's watching. Want to say 'hi'?' _

For a moment he felt the warm, satisfying relief all over again. Peter had trusted him with this girl's life, and he had done his part, done it well. She was home now, the brothers were reunited…

Tired, his vision focused once more on the screen of the here and now. A dimly lit, cold room. Full of art, full of gold, full of everything he ever thought he wanted. A priceless haul… but then, not really _priceless_.

_Wasn't that the point, after all? The price. What it was worth, what they could sell it for, what they could get for it? How they could live like kings for the rest of their cozy, leisurely lives? ..their meaningless, empty,…_

He frowned. Hard to feel the urgency, the excitement of looking at this pile of cold, dead treasure when it wasn't about… a person. _How selfish can I be, to put all this on the same level as keeping a life safe? One little girl… such a treasure… one life._

Neal wondered, for a fleeting moment, if this was anything like what Peter felt.

His vision blurred a bit as he stared at the screen, and for a moment he saw braided pigtails again, the glint of a gold anklet. A memory stirred, uncomfortably.

_I'm glad things are back to normal. _

The look on his partner's face when he said it had been so sincere…

_Damn it Peter. What do you know? Why are you so confident… _

The con man stood and shook himself, trying to lose the feeling that he might be losing his mind. Instinctively, he pulled out his art supplies and began to work on a leather folder…

oOo

_In the end, there should be nothing between you, which is everything…_

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_please feed the author…_


	7. Deadline: Defining Moment

_With great thanks to those who read and review…_

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oOo

_**Deadline: Defining Moment**_

oOo

* * *

Neal leaned forward as he took a bite of his sandwich, automatically keeping the crumbs off his suit as his eyes scanned the newspaper in front of him. He stopped to take a sip of coffee, and stared for a moment out the window of Peter's office. He took a deep breath, exhaled, and realized that it actually sounded much more like a sigh.

Peter looked up from his lunch, ready to make a teasing remark – until he saw his partner's face. Something was going on in there…_ best to take the back way in._

The FBI agent stretched, glanced around, and picked up his sandwich. "Interesting article?"

"Hmm?" Neal looked at him as if he had forgotten he was in the room. "Oh. Ah, no, not really…" With a quick smile, Neal turned on his usual charm and changed the subject. "Just wondering how Diana's doing with her new boss. I know how hard it can be, being on a short leash, doing things that are way beneath you, being at someone's beck and call… " Peter lifted an eyebrow at him.

"Right." The younger man gave him a dimpled grin, and shuffled the newspaper in front of him to a new article, his attention seeming to drop to it once more. Peter pursed his lips ironically. _You're not getting away with that one, buddy. There's something else…_ He tilted his head as his eyebrows lifted innocently. "So how's Sara? Did you two have fun on your double date?"

"The dinner was fine. Very nice." What he _didn't_ say was that later on, at his apartment, he could feel her disappointment and yes, _suspicion_ when she asked why they'd pulled a 'Wally Burns', and he refused an answer. Actually, he'd _avoided_ giving her an answer, but his charming smile, alas, had no effect. It had put a bit of a damper on an evening that was totally washed out a few minutes later by a certain short, bespectacled interruption.

Peter took in the expression on his face and asked, quietly, "But after, not so much?"

Neal's eyes darted back to his in an instant. For a moment the blue tried to convince the brown that they had stepped over a line… but then… he looked so sincerely _concerned_…

"Let's just say that sometimes having Moz around can be… difficult."

"Mozzie? What would he have to do with -"

Caffrey dropped his head to the side, giving Peter a resigned look. "He said I should have hung a sock on the doorknob."

"Oh?" Peter stared blankly for a moment, then realization dawned on his face. "_Oh_."

"Right."

The agent stared off thoughtfully. "I'd say change your locks, but I have a feeling that wouldn't make any difference…"

"Right."

"Hmh." Peter sipped his coffee before folding his section of the paper to the crossword puzzle page, and picking up a pen. "Only one thing you _can_ do, then."

Neal frowned at him. "What?"

The agent grinned as he looked back to his partner. "Buy some cheap socks." The younger man rolled his eyes before he, too, returned to his part of the paper, but Peter noticed his badly hidden smile was genuine this time. He nodded to himself, pleased that he had gotten through. Every little moment of sincere connection convinced the agent that there was still more man than con in his partner. He began reading again.

It had become a bit of routine for the two of them, when they were in the middle of waiting on a case, to sit and eat lunch in Peter's office with the _Times_. Peter would take on the crossword puzzle, and Neal would look over the arts and entertainment section. It was good for them both to get out of their heads for a while, stretch their thoughts in a different direction. They both felt fresher when they returned to the job at hand… and since at the moment the main job was waiting to hear from Diana, it was an excellent time to think of something else.

Peter sipped his coffee and looked again at the puzzle before him. For a moment he frowned, then nodded abruptly. "Ah… good ol' Henry Wirz."

"Who?" Neal asked distractedly. He was reading down a column of new museum exhibits as he ate. Something clicked, nonetheless. "Wait… Wirz. Civil War. The guy who ran the prison camp at Andersonville? The one who was hanged?"

"Yep." Peter frowned at the paper, put down his pen and took a bite of his sandwich.

"Does he show up in crossword puzzles often?"

The agent chuckled, picking up his pen again and writing a few letters. "He didn't actually show up in this one – one of the clues just reminded me of him."

The con gave him a curious look. "Really. What was the clue?"

Peter picked up the paper and read it aloud. "What a Civil prisoner should not cross." Neal's brows came together, and Peter looked smug. "What? Not obvious? The amazing Neal Caffrey doesn't know this one?"

The answer snapped back, sounding a bit like a petulant little brother. "I didn't say I don't know… but then, I'm not the one with four puzzle trophies. Besides, that's a Friday edition."

"True." Peter looked overly innocent as he went back to eating, until Neal sighed loudly.

"Okay, I give up. What was the answer?"

"Come on," the agent said, teasing his consultant with a good-natured grin. "'Civil' has a capital 'c'. The answer has eight letters. First letter is 'd'."

"Peter!"

The agent managed not to laugh, but shook his head in mock despair. "Fine. It's 'deadline'."

Neal blinked. "Deadline?"

"Yup." The agent stood, walked to the door. "I need more coffee. You?"

"I'm good."

"So you keep telling me." They grimaced at each other as the agent walked out – but at the top of the stairs, his phone rang. Peter answered it immediately, and Neal heard him say "Diana?" He spoke briefly, and the agent's brow furrowed in concern as he nodded. "I know you'll take care of her – I'm worried about _you_."

Neal was still watching as the agent hung up and continued downstairs, all thoughts of lunch forgotten. It was almost… _endearing_, the way Peter worried about them. _Us,_ his brain corrected_. He worries about us. All of us._

oOo

The next morning – after the case was closed and only shortly after Diana skillfully conned Peter into letting her go to a conference in Miami – they got word that Helen Anderson was being escorted upstairs. Peter and Neal were close enough to hear the conversation between her and her brief assistant. It was almost amusing, watching her sincerely offer Diana a position she was so clearly overqualified for. Still, the beautiful agent spoke with calm assurance.

"You should rehire your old assistant. She's the one that saved your life."

Neal watched the proud grin bloom on Peter's face as Diana politely refused her offer_._ Without thinking - which was unusual for him - he spoke quietly. "You're really proud of her, aren't you."

The look that Peter gave him could only be described as _beaming_. "Absolutely. She's terrific. She can handle anything that comes at her… I'm lucky she's part of the team." His gaze shot back to Diana as Helen spoke her parting words.

"I have a deadline."

Peter chuckled quietly. "She certainly does. I know I wouldn't want to cross it."

Neal frowned, his hands in his pockets as he watched the journalist leave. Then he turned to Peter again. "You know, you never told me what that crossword clue meant."

The agent picked up a file and glanced through it as he spoke. "Deadline? Really? You mean you didn't look it up?"

The younger man sighed. "Been a little busy, Peter…"

"Oh, fine, I suppose I'm responsible for your continuing education." Burke gave him half a grin, still looking at the file in his hands. "In the Civil War prison camps, the prisoners had to stay a certain distance from the stockade walls. If they crossed it they were shot, no questions asked. In some camps it was a rope running along the ground, or a line scratched in the dirt. Sometimes it was just an understood boundary."

Neal stared at him. "So… it was called a 'deadline'? Because if you crossed it…"

"You were dead." Peter turned and looked at him. "Lucky things have changed, don't you think?"

They made eye contact, and the younger man blinked. "Yeah. Lucky."

The FBI agent gave a quick nod as he turned and strode over to drop the file in Hughes' office. Neal watched him for a moment, then turned to walk back to the bullpen in time to see Diana coming. He grinned, distracted, and pulled the magic-store gag out of his pocket, setting the penny floating up the wall.

Peter was walking back in time to hear the end of their comments. He couldn't help but join in, his eyes sparkling at Neal. "Oh, a _Ghost_ quote? If you know how Diana and Christie met, you are _officially_ part of the family…" Neal blinked at the comment, and looked into those guileless brown eyes.

_The problem with Peter Burke_, he thought, _is that Peter doesn't have to lie; he just tells the truth in a very pointed, open way at just the right moment. Does that make it a con? Or just an uncomfortable truth?_

Neal's phone rang, distracting him, and he excused himself to answer.

Peter kept walking, heading toward his office, with Diana at his side. They spoke quietly as they mounted the steps, and Peter paused, halfway up, watching his partner.

_The slightly widened eyes, the quick breathing, the lack of sparkle… yep. Agent Matthews' flight got off on time, and Neal knows it…_

The agent's tone was deceptively casual as he called across the room. "Neal… you coming?"

The younger man turned and saw the look on his partner's face. Not quite a smile, not quite. But something _knowing_.

_How much does he know? Does he know what I'm planning? How? Clearly he knows I had someone following Matthews. And he probably knows it's Moz… Does he really think I'm going to stay? What would I do if he flat-out _asked_ me to stay? Would it be any different than Helen Anderson asking Diana to go back to being an assistant?_

The thoughts went by in an instant, as their eyes locked across the bullpen. Neal spoke quietly. "I gotta go," and closed his phone. After a moment, he followed Peter and Diana up to the office.

oOo

It was late in the evening. Soft jazz was playing on the stereo, and Neal Caffrey, wearing an a-shirt and jeans, stared at a sullenly blank canvas. He was wondering, for the tenth time, if it was worth starting a new painting. _I mean, if we're leaving soon…_

After half an hour of restless creative drought, he sighed, walked over to the counter of wine bottles and selected a Pinot Noir. He stared at the label for a long while before he opened it, and filled his glass a bit higher than a connoisseur might have approved of. He took a thoughtful sip.

Automatically he held the glass up to the light, and nodded approval as he swirled the rich garnet liquid. He sipped it again, and sat down at the table.

His sketchpad was resting there, along with a few pencils and a well-used kneaded eraser. As he flipped the pad open, he heard himself sigh again. _Come on, Caffrey. Pull it together._

As tempting as it was to call Sara, he knew it was a bad idea. Not today. _Not right now._ He was feeling too unsettled right now, and knew that if she was there, he might just say the wrong thing… either without thinking, or from thinking too hard. _Sure,_ he thought. _ I could just say something stupid and she could walk away, and I wouldn't have to think about how I'll never get to say good-bye… _

Dark curls fell forward as he looked down at the sketchpad once more. Somehow, drawing, painting – they always calmed him down. But tonight, nothing seemed to be working. Nothing seemed right. He flipped a few pages.

As if reading his thoughts, the pad opened to a sketch of Sara. Just a simple three-quarter profile, her eyes downcast. He had sketched it quickly while she was checking over some information for work on her laptop. She had really liked it, but Neal didn't. Somehow he had made her look thoughtful, pensive… and just a bit sad. There was no doubt that it looked like her, and was indeed a fine study of her – but the story his imagination told when he looked at it hit him somewhere in the solar plexus, and hurt. It was too easy to imagine her having that expression after hearing about them running, and disappearing… too easy to imagine what she would think…

_I wonder if she'd come with us._

He found he had taken rather a large gulp of wine after that thought. _Yeah, sure. Why not? Why shouldn't she become a con, too? Someone who helps recover stolen art, why wouldn't she just give up a noble calling to become a criminal on the run?_

Neal frowned and sipped again, a bit more carefully. He flipped a section of pages in the pad, hoping to find some blank paper, perhaps to sketch on. A photograph, however, had been taped to a page farther along, and the pad opened there easily. He glanced at the photo, took another gulp of wine, realized he had finished the glass, and rose to refill it.

The photograph showed a couple, clearly in love. Her cheek was resting easily on his shoulder, her eyes nearly closed, and he had turned to kiss her forehead. They were laughing – or at least she was. He had a smile on his face behind the kiss that was beyond laughter, settling somewhere in bliss. It was a warm, loving moment – so _real. So genuine_.

Neal returned to the table and picked up his pencil. He had been planning to do a sketch of the shot, with the intent to perhaps turn it into a painting, using a little poetic license over the background. He looked at the expressions on the faces in the photo once more, and drew a few expressive lines. The woman's eyelashes, brushing her cheek… the curve of her lip as she smiled. The man's mouth carved elegantly into that loving smile, his eyes so trusting, looking so blissfully into the future…

Neal dropped the pencil and picked up his glass, standing a bit shakily as he walked to the rooftop doors and out into the night. He looked wistfully up at the faint stars.

A few minutes later, he heard the door slide open behind him, and felt an overwhelming hope that it might be-

"So. No insurance lady tonight?"

Neal's shoulders dropped as he looked out into the New York skyline. "No. Just me."

"I see." There was a longish pause, where the visitor seemed to realize that there was something going on in his friend's mind. He searched for something neutral to discuss.

"I got myself a glass of the Pinot. Hope you don't mind."

Neal stood motionless, still silhouetted against the evening sky. "Fine."

The little man took a drink of his wine, looking at his friend's back, and pushed his glasses up on his nose. He spoke casually, still hoping to break the odd silence. "Nice sketch of the Suits that you started in there…"

"Thanks."

Mozzie stared at Neal's back, then off into the New York sky again. "You planning to do a painting of them? I'm sure Mrs. Suit would love it…"

"Yeah." The silence swirled around the rooftop for a few moments, trying to find a way out. Eventually Neal took a deep breath, and turned to look at his friend. "I think they'd like it a lot… and I'd like to do it, but I don't really think I have time. Since we're leaving, and all."

"Ah." Moz shifted uncomfortably. "Well, you can work fast when you want to. I realize things are a little up in the air right now, but still -"

"Yeah." Neal turned to look out at the stars once more; faint lights that shone coldly in a deep gray sky, illuminating nothing. "I just don't know that I even want to start - not knowing what the deadline looks like."

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_please feed the author…_


	8. Dentist Of Detroit: The Mozart Effect

_With great thanks to those who read and review…_

_Oh - I must apologize in advance – this particular tag uses a fair amount of the show's original dialogue – and all credit for it goes to the writers and the actors who made it work so well._

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oOo

_**Dentist of Detroit: The Mozart Effect  
**_

oOo

* * *

"You'll have to get permission from the agent in charge."

Elizabeth leaned up against her husband with a knowing smile and gave him a slow, thoughtful kiss. He took a moment to recover.

"…Permission granted."

oOo

El took a roundabout route to the safe house, the muffins she made for Moz safely resting on the seat beside her. Although the likelihood of her being followed was slim, Diana and Peter had instructed her to come the back way, through a side street and connecting yard. The look on Mozzie's face when the door opened was worth all the twists and turns.

"Mrs. Suit!"

"Mozzie!" They hugged warmly, and she presented him with the box. "For you. I imagine they've only been feeding you on bread and water?" Her mouth quirked in a little grin, but her voice was warm.

"You can _only_ imagine, Mrs. Suit. It's been horrible. It's been hellish. It's been –"

"It's been less than 24 hours," Diana broke in, the exasperation in her voice quite clear. She gave Elizabeth a grateful look. "I can't tell you how glad I am that you came to visit him."

"Oh, it's no problem." She shot the little man a smile. "We get along just fine."

"Really?" Diana looked at her in mock desperation. "I don't suppose the boss would let us deputize you for the duration of their little caper?"

Moz broke in firmly. "Very funny, Lady Suit. Now if you'll go away and leave me to my one _civilized_ visitor?"

Diana and Elizabeth shared a look. "He's all yours, Mrs. Burke. I wish you luck."

"Thanks. And 'Elizabeth' is fine."

Diana nodded thanks, and tapped the badge case on her belt. "On duty, you're Mrs. Burke." She grinned. "Until we deputize you, anyway. But thank you. You sure you're okay in here alone?"

Elizabeth nodded warmly in return. "I'll certainly scream if he does anything untoward, Diana."

Mozzie had moved a low table between two chairs, and motioned for her to sit as Diana left the room. "Would you care for some tea?"

"Oh, Moz. That would be lovely."

Mozzie proceeded to open the door and yell to his keepers for tea. Elizabeth held back a laugh, and reached into her purse. "I brought cards. And the scorepad."

He looked at her in mock horror. "Not the _scorepad_! Locked up here, I thought I'd at least have a chance for a fresh start."

"Those chances are few and far between, Moz."

Mozzie's eyes darted toward her as he seemed to hide behind his glasses. "You know, for a moment there, you sounded like a Suit I know."

She blinked innocently. "Is that bad?"

He paused as the door opened and someone who was clearly avoiding reentering the room handed in two mugs of tea. He took them and handed one with some ceremony to El before sitting down opposite her and tilting his head to the side. "Bad? _Per se?_ I suppose not."

The cards were dealt, and they chatted comfortably as they played. Elizabeth marveled, once more, how easy it was to talk to Moz, and how easy to be silent with him as well. It was as if she had met an old friend when they were introduced, even though that seemed like such a short time ago. What was it her mother had always said? 'You don't _meet_ a friend, you _recognize_ a friend.'

She never would have imagined that Dante Haversham would have become, truly, such a trusted friend. Not that she believed for a moment that he told her everything, or even that _Dante_ was his real name. _Mozzie_, however, clearly was. Nicknames could be more real than given names, in her mind. A nickname was what people who loved you called you, and more often than not, what you called yourself.

"So," Moz said, breaking her out of her reverie as he picked up a card and discarded. "I suppose Neal and the Suit – or should I say 'Redford and Newman' - are in the middle of doing something crazy about now."

"Well, I hope not crazy. They actually looked adorable when they left. Here, you can see." She rummaged for her phone and found the picture, smiled, and showed it to Moz with a laugh. "I took a prom picture of them."

Mozzie looked down at the picture, and glanced over the frames of his glasses at her. "That was a pretty progressive school. Of course, _now_ it could even be a _wedding_ picture…"

She laughed at that. "True. It is New York."

"And they make such a handsome couple." He tried unsuccessfully to keep a straight face.

Elizabeth regained her composure and spoke with a teasing, haughty seriousness. "I'm afraid it could _only_ be a wedding picture for Neal, though. Peter is _definitely_ spoken for."

The little con man rolled his eyes. "Don't we know it." He looked at the picture once more and added, "I just hope they're…ah… having a good time."

He handed the phone back to her, and waited as she played her turn. She couldn't help but notice how pensive he had suddenly become. "Moz?"

"Yes?" He played another card, and tried to look like nothing was wrong.

"What's going on?"

"What do you mean?"

"Come on, Moz. That's the second six you threw, and you know I took the first one. What's the matter?" Her blue eyes seemed to flood with concern, and Mozzie sighed.

"It's just this gang they're getting involved with. I'm… well."

"Worried?" He shrugged a nod, and she strove to sound casual, trying to recapture their earlier kidding tone. "Not the kind of people you want to meet for drinks?"

It was a sign of his distraction that he spoke without thinking. "Not even once. And it's like they're inviting them over for dinner, instead. I just… it's…" He threw down a card, shaking his head. "It's like I said, if _anyone_ deserves to take a bullet over this, it should be me." Belatedly, he looked up at Elizabeth and saw her eyes. _Oh, no. Did I just suggest he was going to _– With lightning speed, he attempted to drop the subject. "Your turn, I believe."

"Mozzie… "

He tried to look away, but found his eyes kept coming back to hers.

She was always so strong, so caring… he hesitated to call his feelings for Mrs. Suit a _crush_, but there was certainly _something_ there. Perhaps she was the first woman he remembered actually being friends with who knew just who he was and what he did – and didn't care. He had never met someone so adamant about giving someone the benefit of the doubt.

Clearly she'd done that with Neal. Moz still remembered hearing the story of their first meeting – how Neal had charmed his way in to Peter's house, and met the charming Mrs. Burke. How she seemed to know so much about him as a con her husband was chasing, but decided for herself how she felt about the _man_. Perhaps Mozzie never would have come to the Suit's house if he hadn't heard how welcoming she had been of his young friend. And he certainly wouldn't have stayed for so long…

It broke his heart to see her worry. It really did. He didn't know if he saw her as a sister, or a mother, or simply as a woman he absolutely loved and admired… but something in his psyche screamed that she should be protected… at any cost.

"Moz?"

He blinked, tore his eyes away from hers and picked up a card. "Thanks again for the muffins –"

"Mozzie." She leaned forward slightly in her chair, her cards only partially hidden. "These men that they're meeting with. Are they dangerous?"

His expression was flat. There was no way he could lie to those eyes. "They're killers."

She blinked twice, rapidly, as she tried to remain calm and not panic. She tried with marginal success to turn her focus away from worry about her husband, and focus on the problem of the friend in front of her. "Have you thought about confronting them?"

Moz stood, giving her an ironic laugh. "Putting an end to this feud for good?" His eyes caught hers once more. She was absolutely serious. As if she believed he had it in him to stand up to one of the more frightening monsters from a childhood gallery filled with monsters… Frankie DaLuca. But yes, there was something in her gaze that suggested _she_ thought he could do it. There was that confidence. But something more.

_She's afraid. Underneath it all, she's afraid that Peter will be killed. And it'll be all my fault…_ He shifted uncomfortably. _Could_ _I_ possibly _consider_ _confronting Frankie?_ He cleared his throat. "I hadn't. But now… they're threatening people I care about." He stood, eyes wide, as he stared at one of the people he cared about most.

Elizabeth nodded, thinking only of the picture he had shown her of Mr. Jeffries, and the stories he had shared about the man's kindness. She shook her head, and looked down at her cards. "Oh. Gin." Diana came back into the room, and Elizabeth stood to leave.

Moz was quite sure she had no idea how pale she looked. How very unsettled. There was really only one thing he could do. As she turned to go, he spoke quietly.

"Elizabeth." Her surprised glance back to him showed eyes that were close to tears, but also a strength that would not let them come; not here, not now. He gave her a tight but reassuring smile, and his voice was filled with soft conviction. "Peter will be fine."

She smiled somewhat artificially without daring to speak, nodded, and left.

_I'll make sure of that, Mrs. Suit. I promise._

Half an hour later he was climbing out of the safe house. "I'm on my way, Peter."

* * *

oOo

* * *

Across town, Peter grabbed Neal by the lapels of his elegant tux and threw him – with some care – against the bar. Now that they'd begun the fight, the agent struggled to improvise just what it was going to be about. For a moment he blanked, then, as he stared into the bright blue eyes of his informant, the words spilled out. "You were trouble ever since you came to work for me. With your glossy smile and those annoying little hats."

Neal blinked, but his life as a con made the improvising much easier for him. His voice rang with righteous indignation, with a touch of hurt feelings. "You loved my hats!"

"The hell I did." Peter shook his head, feeling the rush of adrenaline as he warmed to the argument. "You're insubordinate. You _never_ do what I tell you to do, and every time I turn my back, you're off doing who knows _what_, with God knows _who_." For a moment he paused, seeing a flicker in Neal's eyes. Something in that comment had hit a nerve. In a blink, he tried to remind himself of the characters they were supposed to be, and shook his head, attempting to restore order to 'his' establishment. _Besides, that had to have been enough _- "I'm sorry, folks. I'm sorry –"

But Neal's voice rang out again, and Peter turned with a start. "You ungrateful bastard. I've had your back since day one, and _anytime_ anything goes wrong, I'm the first person you blame." Even Neal was unsure about how much was an act and how much was angry truth in what he had just said. They stared at each other, realizing the masks had abruptly dropped on both sides.

"Because you're a con! It's who you are, and it's all you'll ever be." Peter felt it from across the room, with a pang of regret. _Another hit. And that one… that one was below the belt. Damn_. Their eyes locked, the anger suddenly dissipating as they realized, once more, where they were and what they were supposed to be doing. Neither one was quite ready to back down… but they had to finish this public scene, finish what they started. Peter gestured dramatically. "You're fired! Get out of my sight."

"With pleasure!" The con man practically flew toward the door.

"Good!" The agent felt an overwhelming relief that the fight was over. It might have gotten just a _little_ too personal -

But Neal turned one more time before he exited, his voice a bit more vicious than Peter had ever heard it before. "And the next time your hot wife gets lonely? Tell her to call me. You know my number." He watched Peter's eyes grow wide before he turned and strode away, an angry smile making him look more devious than charming. _You think you're the only one who knows how to hit below the belt, Agent Burke? Ha._

Minutes later - the sting complete - Peter took a breath as he hesitantly approached his partner standing out on the balcony. The look on Neal's face as he turned told him something was up, and their fight - real or imagined - was forgotten as they ran to find Mozzie, hoping they weren't already too late.

* * *

oOo

* * *

It was late the next day. Elizabeth and Peter were chatting as they set the table for dinner.

"Well, I just think it's adorable. _Mozart_." She grinned, her eyes sparkling in the soft light. "The bear's pretty cute, too."

Peter stopped as he put down a fourth plate, and looked at his wife. "Did I mention he thanked me? He actually _thanked_ me."

"And that surprised you? That he was thankful that you saved his life?" She rather automatically folded the napkin into a bird of paradise, checked the folds critically, and moved to the next place setting.

"Well, maybe not… but El," He picked up the wine glasses and moved them into place. "He called me _'Peter'_."

Elizabeth Burke looked at her husband, who had a sheepish, fond, almost embarrassed expression on his face that she knew he only shared – intentionally, anyway – with her. She couldn't help falling in love all over again. "You're going to have to face it, Peter. He _likes_ you."

Peter laughed, brushing it off. "Oh, no. He likes _you_." He waved a finger in little circles in the air. "Don't think I don't notice this little, intellectual… _fling_ you two have going…"

She moved to the other side of the table, whapped his chest with an as yet unfolded napkin, and kissed him. "You know what I mean. He respects you."

This time he actually stepped back. "I wouldn't go that far. What makes you think –"

"Peter! What did he do yesterday? Besides going to meet that thug himself because he didn't want you to get hurt, that is?"

He frowned at her. "He thanked me…"

El gave him a grin, poking him in the chest with her finger. "He also gave a known criminal a chance to do the right thing. To walk away from temptation…"

Peter stared at her for a long moment. "But…"

"Mmm hmm." She stood on tiptoe and kissed him lightly. Then she looked into his eyes, put down the napkins and wrapped her arms around his neck. "Oh, Peter…" This time, when she kissed him, he nearly dropped a wineglass, fumbling to get it to the table so he could hold her, his fingers tangling gently in her hair. When they separated – only by inches – she whispered softly. "I wish you could see the effect you have on people. You're such a good man…" Her hands drifted to his shoulders, and her eyes were shining when she leaned in to kiss him again. "I love you."

He pulled her close. "I love you, too." His forehead dropped for a moment to rest against hers. "And thank you for your confidence in me. I just hope… I hope it's enough."

Elizabeth pulled back to look into his eyes once more. "You're doing all you can, sweetheart. It's all you can do. And it's more than most men could."

Peter's head dropped to the side and he looked at her lovingly, although as usual, her fervor made him feel just a little embarrassed. Of course, if he told her that, she would say he was being _humble_, and the cycle would go on. _I am so lucky..._ As he looked at her, his eyes took on a familiar twinkle and his hold on her tightened. "I don't know… I get the feeling there may be a _bit_ more I can do…"

She laughed as they kissed again, lost in each other's arms.

A moment later they both heard a huffing noise, and turned quickly to see what it was.

Mozzie and Neal were standing in the now open door. Neal was shaking his head, an amused grin on his face as he pointedly looked elsewhere, while Mozzie was staring at the Suits. He opened his mouth to say something to them, stopped, and turned to Neal instead. "…Is it me? Should I give _everyone_ socks for Christmas?"

* * *

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_please feed the author…_


	9. Veiled Threat: Promises

_Sorry it's been so long. We carry on.  
_

* * *

oOo

_**Veiled Threat: Promises**_

oOo

* * *

The couple edged toward the balcony doors, the soft candlelight making their movements and conversation look like a considered slow dance – which, in a way, it was.

"Oh, there'll be a _second_ date?"

"A guy can hope."

Sara looked at Neal with a veiled smile before leaning in to kiss him. It was almost unbelievable, that they were actually on a _date_, that things were going so well. And it almost seemed that Neal was ready to be _committed_ to this relationship, at least -

And then his phone buzzed, _again_, and Peter was on his way up. Still, watching the 'con man' immediately, unquestioningly rush to back up his FBI partner… seeing how beautifully he drew the black widow… giving Moz the push he needed to get out and do his part… it all felt so… _natural_. So honest, and upright, and responsible… It made her wonder. And in a strange way, if she was willing to admit it… it gave her hope.

...

Neal reached for the box Sara held for him, taking a piece of charcoal and sketching quickly. Peter needed this done fast. Yet as quickly as his hands were working, his mind kept rolling back to the fact that Sara was helping, acting as his right hand; was delightedly holding his supplies while sipping wine and marveling at his skill. It made him wonder, and in a strange way… he shook his head, channeling all of his concentration onto the pad in front of him. Ignoring the voice that floated though his thoughts.

_How do you know if you've met just the right person? And what happens if this relationship works, and you leave it behind?_

* * *

oOo

* * *

Elizabeth straightened her jacket and checked her lipstick in the mirror. Peter had called her earlier, telling her that she might have to play the event planner once more – but that was a good hour ago, and she hadn't heard from him since. Nervously, she adjusted her hair, stared into the somewhat unsure eyes in the mirror, and nearly jumped when the doorbell rang. Shaking herself, she took a deep breath before going to answer.

"Yes?"

"Peter needs you, right away."

Her eyebrows lifted as she looked at Agent Jones, knowing that if her husband had been hurt, he would have said so. This was different, and her curiosity was piqued as she nodded. _Must be some loose ends on the case._ "Okay." Grabbing her purse, she followed him down to the waiting car. Jones attempted some of his usual small talk with her; chatting about his pastry business for the auction, the frenzy of bidding for him, and how his date had gone – but she still worried. It felt odd.

They drove a familiar route through the city, and she frowned lightly when they pulled up outside June's mansion. "Clinton? What's going on?"

"I only work here, Elizabeth. The boss said to deliver you to Neal's place." He turned and grinned at her. "I don't think it's anything dangerous, but he did say it was pretty important."

"Okay." She nodded a bit nervously. "Do I look enough in character if I have to be?"

He looked her over thoughtfully, and a genuine smile lit his face. "I think, Elizabeth, that you look quite lovely." The quiet sincerity of his statement brought a blush to her cheek, and she smiled gratefully at him.

Reaching out, she put a hand on his arm. "Thank you, Clinton." Taking a deep breath, she got out of the sedan and walked with boosted confidence up the stairs. Outside Neal's door she paused, gathered her wits about her, and walked in.

Neal's apartment was all but unrecognizable. Draped with gauzy fabrics, twinkling lights and candles… which all looked slightly familiar. _Wait_. _Didn't I order all this? But what _- Looking across the starry, romantically candlelit room she saw the most handsome, desirable man she knew wearing a tux and looking ever so slightly nervous. "Peter?"

"El." Walking over to her, he took her hand. "I wanted to give you the wedding you always wanted… just us." He got down on one knee, and she saw him swallow hard, his dark eyes shining. His voice, when he voiced the soft question, had a tremor in it that she hadn't heard in a _very_ long time.

"Elizabeth… will you marry me? Again?"

Her heart soared even higher than it had the first time, so many years ago. "Yes. As many times as you ask." He stood and kissed her again, holding her hand tightly as the officiant and witness came into the room.

oOo

Neal couldn't help but notice the nervous excitement in his partner's eyes as the couple stood there, and he smiled. Elizabeth was beaming, nothing but happiness in her expression, and Peter… well…he'd seen that expression on his friend's face before. Usually when thoughts of El were involved.

It seemed so natural. Here was his best friend, his partner; renewing a promise made long ago… and here he was, witnessing that promise. Like he had so many other of Peter's vows… including a certain one involving the con man himself. One that suddenly popped into his head, uninvited.

_"If you run, Neal, I'll find you."_

It was every bit as sincere a promise as the one his partner was renewing now, as he spoke words of love to his wife.

Neal blinked his attention came back to what Mozzie was saying. The little man had asked them to take off their rings, and hand them to each other, which they did.

"Now, I realize it's been a while, Suit, but here you are, having the distinct advantage of knowing _just_ what you're getting into by marrying this absolutely wonderful woman. And Mrs. Suit… you have distinct _disadvantage_ of the same knowledge." Peter rolled his eyes, and Elizabeth giggled as she gave his arm a squeeze. Moz grinned a smug little grin, and went on more seriously. "You realize, of course, I jest. If there were more couples like the two of you, this world would certainly be a better place."

Embarrassed, Peter looked down, but Elizabeth stood a little taller, her eyes shining with unshed tears.

"So. Knowing what you know, being where you've been – do you both still want to do this?"

Peter looked at Elizabeth. His vulnerable whisper was barely loud enough to hear. "Hon… you sure?"

She looked startled, then shook her head and smiled. "Of course I'm sure. Sweetheart, I wouldn't change a thing…" She leaned toward him and he leaned in to kiss her softly. Together, they looked back at Moz.

"We do."

"All right, then. Go ahead." He gestured to Peter, and the tall agent looked at the delicate ring that he had given his wife so long ago. Lifting it closer, he read the inscription still visible inside.

'El – I love you forever'. With a smile he took her hand and lifted it to his lips, kissing her finger where the ring would sit. "It's still true." She blinked back tears as he slipped on the ring and whispered, "Thank you for being my wife."

Elizabeth took a shaky breath as she held his heavier ring in her open palm. "You know, I remember picking this out… I remember how nervous I was." She looked up at him and a tear finally spilled down her cheek. "Thank you for being the man you are. I love you more now than I did then, which I never thought was possible." She put the ring on his finger and swallowed hard.

They looked back to Mozzie and he nodded. Opening the book he carried, he lifted one hand in benediction and spoke. "A smarter man than I wrote this. I think you already understand what he is saying, but it bears repeating.

"_You were born together, and together you shall be forevermore.  
You shall be together when the white wings of death scatter your days.  
Ay, you shall be together even in the silent memory of God.  
But let there be spaces in your togetherness,  
And let the winds of the heavens dance between you._

_Love one another, but make not a bond of love:  
Let it rather be a moving sea between the shores of your souls.  
Fill each other's cup but drink not from one cup.  
Give one another of your bread but eat not from the same loaf.  
Sing and dance together and be joyous, but let each one of you be alone,  
Even as the strings of a lute are alone though they quiver with the same music._

_Give your hearts, but not into each other's keeping.  
For only the hand of Life can contain your hearts.  
And stand together yet not too near together:  
For the pillars of the temple stand apart,  
And the oak tree and the cypress grow not in each other's shadow."_

He closed the book and stood silently, his head bowed, for a long moment. When he lifted his head again, he took their hands, laying one atop the other, and rested them between his own.

"Elizabeth, Peter. By the power vested in me you are, now and always, husband and wife." He grinned at Peter. "Okay, Suit. You can kiss her now."

He did.

* * *

oOo

* * *

An hour later, the happy couple stood on their doorstep, and he kissed her again. "You know, I thought about getting a hotel…"

"Oh, I'd rather be here. Just here. Just us."

He smiled as he unlocked the door and opened it. "I thought so." With practiced ease he swept her up, much to her delight, and carried her over the threshold. As he set her down she kissed him and spoke softly.

"This couldn't be more perfect." Then she turned and with a gasp, saw their living room; sparkling with candles; a bottle of wine and two glasses; an assortment of delicious foods on the low table where rose petals were scattered. "Peter! How did you –"

"I didn't." He stepped over to the table and found a note, calligraphed elegantly. Reading it, he grinned before handing it to her.

_Satch is spending the night with me and Sara – Congratulations, and we'll see you tomorrow afternoon. -N_

Elizabeth looked from the note to the carefully prepared room and shook her head in wonder. "I can't believe he did this."

Peter sighed, looking at the beautifully arranged reception and then back to his wife. "I can."

"You know, Peter… he really is…"

"I know."

Then he swept her into his arms again, and everyone else, even Neal, was forgotten for the rest of the night.

* * *

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_"On Marriage" excerpt by Kahlil Gibran. No point in trying to say it better than he did._

_please feed the author…_


	10. Scott Free: K Sara Sara

_It seems appropriate to have a tag, at the point of this episode in the past season, from Sara's point of view… I hope you enjoy. If you're like me and you need a reminder, _Scott Free_ involved a young con that reminded folks of Neal… Peter nearly walking in on Neal and Sara… and Sara wearing a diamond encrusted bustier, before finding a passport…_

* * *

oOo

**_Scott Free: K, Sara Sara_**

oOo

* * *

Sara Ellis looked in the bathroom mirror and gave her blush a quick powder. She could just imagine the horrified look that would be on Peter's face, and planned to show him a completely calm exterior. _Nothing happening here, nothing to worry about._ Taking a deep breath and looking at her studiously calm reflection once more, she gathered up her things and stepped back into the main room.

And oh, she was wrong. The look on his face was _worse_ than she had imagined. And besides the face, he was holding the handcuffs out on his pen - _oh God, not the handcuffs!_ –as if they were a fresh piece of evidence. He just stood there, smiling that contained little smile that made it seem that he was going to burst out laughing any minute. He didn't say a word – which is what she blamed her sudden torrent of speech on. It was as if that _look_ created this gaping void, and she just found herself rushing to fill it.

"Ah, those are mine. Neal's teaching me to pick them. It's our version of Sudoku in the afternoon."

Peter lifted an eyebrow. "Uh-huh." Again, the look. The grin. "Good _morning_, Sara."

"Morning. And before you ask, I do not have a drawer here, or a toothbrush."

This earned an innocent blink from the FBI agent. "Did I ask?..."

Abandoning all sense of calm, she found herself babbling. "We're at that awkward stage where yes, we've been on a few dates, but, really, what does that all mean?"

This time, the slightest of semi-serious frowns appeared as Peter listened to one of the more composed women he knew sound somewhat insane. "Yes. What _does_ that all mean?"

She opened her mouth to respond again, but fortunately Neal interrupted before she could dig the hole any deeper.

"It means - we're taking things one day at a time."

Her eyes shot toward him, exasperation with herself transferring to anger at the con man's cool in the face of dread embarrassment. "That's what I said."

Blue eyes barely avoided rolling. "More or less."

Peter's exceedingly solemn look almost did her in, and she felt the blush rising to her face. "Mostly _more_."

…

Practically running from the apartment, Sara was sitting in the back of a cab before she managed to run through her comments in memory and cringed. She was going to have to apologize to Neal… _Maybe that was how Agent Burke got felons to confess. He just looked at them, with that slightly smug, knowing look, and waited for them to blurt everything out. _

"Damn," she whispered. "Good thing I didn't stay. I'd have been telling him _everything_…" And, she feared, everything would include just how she was beginning to fall head over heels for a certain reformed criminal. The word echoed in her head. _Reformed_.

_Okay, at least I _hope_ he's reformed…it certainly is beginning to feel that way.  
_

* * *

oOo

* * *

Sara was at her office, staring at the monitor, when she realized that she had read the same paragraph four times, and still didn't know what it said. _Maybe I'm tired…just need a nap…_ shaking her head at the blatant lie, she sighed. Because really, all she wanted to do was go over to Neal's house and… _not_ take a nap. _ Hmh. I am entirely too preoccupied with him… but it's been so good lately…_ She mumbled quietly to herself. "Preoccupied… I sound like I'm thirteen. Great." _But I certainly am intrigued by him._

Glancing at the clock, she shut down her computer, picked up her coat. _Intriguing_. An all too descriptive word for– she stopped herself right before her brain spit out the words _my_ _boyfriend_. Shaking her head, she headed down to hail a cab. _Maybe I'll just see if he's hungry…_

oOo

Showing up unannounced might not have been the best thing to do.

"You brought a wanted fugitive into your home? And Peter doesn't know he's here."

"Not yet…"

Exasperation melted as she looked into the con man's concerned features. "You should help him…" Blue eyes met hers, thoughtfully, and somehow looked _older_. Not old and weary, but more adult. More mature. In fact, the concerned expression in Neal's eyes as he decided to help this young man, to try to lead him in another direction, reminded her of a certain FBI agent. _Now they're both role models. Intriguing. _

After chatting out on the roof with Scott for a few minutes, she walked back into Neal's apartment, to discuss what they would do next. His concern for the young man made him appear even more attractive, and she shook her head, trying to keep her mind on their conversation.

"Yes, but usually I'm returning things to their rightful owners…"

Blue eyes flashed with inspiration.

"How gray is that gray area?"

Sara looked up at him, and mischief danced between their eyes. This was perfect. It was being on a… on a sort of _caper_ with him, but it wasn't even really like breaking the law. Heck, by _returning_ the diamond bustier, there were practically _unbreaking_ it. At least, that was the happy thought that kept her flying all the way up to the penthouse, wearing enough ice to keep her thoroughly chilled.

* * *

oOo

* * *

Even with all the complications – in fact, perhaps _because_ of all the complications, she found her admiration for Neal growing. The way he took responsibility for Scott, helping him accomplish what needed to be done while still encouraging him to turn himself in… it was certainly admirable.

And, perhaps… just perhaps… it was more than just admiration. Her feelings for the man were clearly solidifying in some way… which led her to where she sat now. Literally. Sitting on the steps leading up to June's door, thinking.

_Am I crazy? Just showing up again? Of course, he seems happy to see me when I do… but he could be acting. I mean, he is a con…_

"Oh, good Lord." She gathered her courage and stood up, took a deep breath, and promptly sat back down again. "Crap." She wished, fervently, that there was someone she could talk to about this. Taking out her phone, she very nearly called Elizabeth Burke.

_Now there's a woman who understands dealing with a man who has his own way of doing things…_

She remembered them chatting the night they all had dinner together. How sincere El looked when Sara asked if she'd ever tried to change Peter, her only response being "Why?"

_Damn. I wish I could be that confident._

But maybe confidence wasn't the point. Maybe it was just _acceptance_.

_If I really care… If I love him…_

She shivered, standing up again out in the night, and shook her head.

"Okay. That's it, then. I'm going to tell him tonight." Pushing back her shoulders, she gave it a try, speaking quietly. "Neal… I love you."

A shiver ran through her again as she said it out loud, but this time… she couldn't help but smile. The decision to take the plunge, seemingly so hard to make, left her happier than she had been in ages. Pocketing her phone, she straightened her hair, smoothed her dress, and trotted up the stairs.

And there he was, his shirt undone, hair slightly tousled, looking absolutely delicious. She kissed him and smiled, only a little worried about how he might respond to her declaration, and told him she would meet him in the shower in a couple minutes. He walked away and she smirked, enjoying the view from the back just as much as seeing his face.

Turning to the mirror on the wall, she pushed an errant strand of hair into place, and then –

- then it all went wrong.

The painting, ajar from the wall, clearly hiding something. The hula dancing doll, which made her laugh, and diminished her fears of looking farther. The little booklet, clearly a passport, but for –

Her brows lifted as she opened it, saw Neal's picture, and read the owner's identity.

_Victor Moreau._

Seriously? He even took her name?

She frowned at the picture, a sudden rush of realization hitting her like a brick wall, her thoughts going in a million directions at once.

_This relationship is just a cover. A fake. It makes it look like he's got something worth staying for, but he's going to run…_

_No… it can't be that easy…_

_Wake up. You can't trust him. And if you can't trust him, you certainly can't love…_

For a moment, she considered confronting him with the document. Then, just as suddenly, she considered running away and never coming back.

In the end, she just took a deep breath and pushed the feelings aside.

_He's not the only one who can pretend we're in a relationship._

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…_please feed the author…_


	11. Taking Account: At What Cost

_This actually begins between "Scott Free" and "Taking Account"… because I couldn't quite take the cheery moodswing at the beginning of 'Account' after she had found his passport at the end of 'Free'. I think Sara is more savvy than that…_

_oh, and I'm trying to catch up before the season restarts… if anyone wants to encourage me, feel free._

* * *

oOo

_**Taking Account: At What Cost**_

oOo

* * *

Sara blinked twice, slipped the passport back into the space behind the painting, and took a deep breath. She looked around the apartment, glanced toward the bathroom where she could hear the shower starting. "Damn."

Taking a few steps toward the bedroom, then stopping, stepping toward the door, then freezing and shaking her fists, she whispered a yell. "Damn!" Willing her thoughts to settle, she thought quickly, and then grabbed her coat. Trying to steady her breathing, she walked back to the bathroom. She shook her head as she heard his clear tenor singing over the running water, and rapped on the door.

"Neal?"

He stopped mid-crescendo. "Yeaaas? You ready to get clean, lady? Or maybe… dirty?"

She took a breath. _Why did he have to be so tempting?_ Then she rolled her eyes at herself and spoke quickly. "Neal, I just got a message – something's come up, I've got to head back in to work. Sorry. I'll call." Then she turned and practically ran from the apartment.

She was gone before he turned off the water and opened the door to say goodbye. "Anything important? …Sara?" His eyebrows lifted for a moment, and then he shrugged. "I guess so." Grinning at her determination, in moments he was once again the _Phantom of the Opera_.

oOo

Sara got as far as June's door when she hesitated, anger and sadness competing for the upper hand. _Should I just go back and confront him with this? _ Abruptly the downstairs door opened, and she jumped, as did the woman who opened it.

"Good heavens. I'm sorry, Sara. Did I scare you as much as you scared me?" The older woman's smile sparkled in the hall, and then she looked into Sara's eyes. "Are you all right? You look -"

"Oh, June…" Without thinking, Sara fell into the woman's open arms, tears falling in spite of herself.

"It'll be fine, sweetheart. Come on in, now."

Five minutes later she was seated at June's kitchen table, a mug of chamomile tea steaming in front of her, a box of tissues at her side. June sat with her own cup and looked at her for a moment, as if to make sure she had everything she needed.

"All right, Sara. What happened?"

There was something so comforting about the older woman that Sara barely hesitated. "Well… I've been feeling like things are going well with Neal lately."

June grinned. "Somehow, I don't think that's what's upsetting you."

"In a way, it is… I dropped in to see him, and… while he was in the other room, I saw one of his paintings was swung out from the wall."

The landlady frowned for a moment. "The one by the door, or in the bedroom, or near-"

"By the door." Sara looked up at her, eyebrows raised. "I take it there are a few hiding places up there?"

The older woman's laughter was bright. "Oh, more than_ a few_. And not only up there. My husband was a man who liked to hide things…" She chuckled again. "Sometimes, things that didn't even need hiding. Like extra socks. I think it gave him a sense of security." Sara managed a laugh at that, took a sip of tea, and went on.

"So I looked inside. I know, I know… don't ask questions you don't want to hear the answers to. There was a doll… and I kind of thought maybe the things in there were just, well, like _socks_. Nothing really important. Then I looked behind it and there was this passport…"

June nodded sagely. "And not for a Neal Caffrey? Or perhaps, someone who _looked_ like Neal… but not that name?"

Sara leaned her forehead on one hand, her elbow on the table as she drummed with the fingers of her other hand. "Oh, June. I don't know what to do…"

Reaching across, June put a hand on Sara's, stilling the drumming. "What do you mean?"

The younger woman stared. "June, he has fake ID. He's going to run… for some reason, he's ready to bolt, and anything he has with me is just a lie –"

"Now hold on, miss." June's voice suddenly made Sara feel like she was in the principal's office. "Just what do those two things have to do with each other?"

"What do you mean?"

"If, and I say _if_, Neal is even thinking of running, that doesn't mean he doesn't care for you. And it certainly doesn't mean that he's been lying about how he feels." Sara frowned at her, unconvinced. "Do you two have any long term contract? I don't see a ring on that finger, and I don't imagine you're ready for one if it was offered."

"Well, no, but – "

"So you're just upset because this lovely con man, who you've been having a lovely time with, and who cares about you just as much as you care about him, is behaving – like a con man? Like someone who is _so_ accustomed to being able to run at a moment's notice that he keeps the tools to do that handy?" She shook her head. "Sara. If you want to be in a relationship with someone like Neal – and trust me, I _know_ what it's like – then you can't expect him to not be… _Neal_. They are what they are." Her eyes misted over a bit. "They're passionate about what they do. And they love like no others." Drawing herself up regally, June spoke more gently. "He cares about you, Sara. If you really want to know why he has a forged passport, ask." She smiled. "Let's face it. Just like my husband was, he's a crook with a heart of gold. And I'm just not sure if they can be one without the other."

Sara blinked at her thoughtfully. "But…"

"No 'but's', Sara. Either you love him or you don't. You can't love him _and_ want him to be someone else."

oOo

Neal was sitting on the sofa wearing soft pj pants, his hair still tousled and damp from the shower. With a book in hand and a glass of wine at his side, he was the image of calm meditation. That is, until he stopped reading to swirl the wine in the glass, and concern clouded the bright blue of his eyes as he took a sip and looked out the windows into the New York evening.

He always had loved evenings like this, the calm, the solitude… but now, he found himself wishing that someone was there to share it with. Well, not just _anyone_. _ I wonder how work is going for her._

He blinked a few times, reached for his phone, and was surprised to hear a soft knock at his door. "Hello?" There was no answer. Putting down the wine and marking his place in the book, he rose gracefully and padded over to the door. When he opened it, there was no mistaking the sincerity of the beaming smile on his face. "Hey! I thought –"

She nearly knocked him over as she threw herself into his arms and kissed him passionately. He grabbed the doorframe to steady himself, and chuckled when she finally tilted her head back. "Well, hello there." He leaned forward to kiss her more gently, still smiling, but feeling a bit of concern. There was something in her eyes that seemed different. "Hey… you okay?"

"Neal…" she stopped, looked down, swallowed hard, and looked back into his eyes. "Listen… I've been wanting to tell you…"

"Okay." He nodded tightly, his brow furrowing. "I'm listening."

She watched as he worried, not knowing what was coming. _Seriously. After that kiss, he still worries? In some ways, he's as bad as me…_ It made her smile. "I just want to say…" She took a breath, stood up a little taller. "I want you to know that I really care about you. A lot."

His eyes regained their brightness and he nearly laughed. "Really."

"I'm serious, Neal." The green in her eyes seemed darker as she looked at him, her palms resting on his bare chest. "I want you to know that you're important to me."

For a moment he looked away, staring at the floor. When his eyes returned to hers, there was a haunted vulnerability to them. His voice was quiet. "I care about you too, Sara." He leaned to kiss her, softly. "A lot."

They watched each other, then, abruptly shy, looked away. Neal recovered first. "Ah… would you like to come in? All the way in, that is?"

She bit her lower lip. "I don't know, I do have some files to go over…"

"Well, I'm just doing a little reading. And I opened a nice Shiraz. You could do your work here… I mean… if you want to just… you know… be together."

Exhaling a sigh, she nodded. "I think I'd like that." She nearly giggled. "A lot."

oOo

Of course, once she found out her bank had been compromised, everything became even more intense. Neal's generous offer to have her stay with him, and his promise to catch the perpetrator… it touched her heart in new and complicated ways.

Playing house, playing it rich. The week flew by in a blur. Even though she felt like she had to remind him that it was a game, and it would all be returned. Even though it sounded an awful lot like he was offering to let her get used to living this way…

Her mind kept oscillating, back and forth between the suspicious insurance investigator and the woman in love. It was the insurance investigator that automatically memorized the password she saw reflected in the shining Les Paul guitar. It was the woman in love that tried to forget it.

But she couldn't. As she stood alone in the apartment, the laptop stacked with books stared at her like the owner of a stolen masterpiece, just waiting for her to figure out what had happened. In her mind she heard the echo of Neal's words. _I thought this was about not having any more secrets…_

She whispered under her breath. "Damn." In her mind, alternatives spun like a roulette wheel. _Let it be vacation ideas. Let it be research about the case. Let it be _porn_, for heaven's sake…just don't let it be a record of what you've stolen… _ She typed in the password with trembling fingers.

The image popped up on the screen, and for a moment, her mind refused to register what it was. In her wildest imaginings she hadn't dreamed that there would be a live feed of the treasure. The insurance investigator took over, and began to catalogue the wealth. A king's ransom, or more. Maybe a queen's. The woman in love returned, and her eyes flooded with tears. "Oh, Neal…" she whispered. "What have you done?"

And she knew she had to leave. Because it was too much, it was too hard. Perhaps June was a better woman than she was. Perhaps it was because all of her training strained at how important it was to have these treasures returned to their rightful owners. Perhaps it was because she cared too much to have her heart torn apart again.

oOo

She was packed, ready to leave by the time Neal reappeared. Keeping her tone level, her emotions in check, she said goodbye, trying not to notice the way his eyes hardened when she said she was leaving, that it was over, that they both knew it couldn't last. She knew, in her heart, that he was more hurt than he would ever have the courage to admit. She managed to hold herself together until the very last minute, when the woman in love struggled to the surface once more. Her gaze softened as she leaned over to kiss his cheek. "Take care of yourself, Caffrey."

And she was gone.

Neal stared after her for a moment, and then looked at the kitchen table. The laptop. The books, slightly askew.

He shook his head. _ Did I leave this here just to tempt her? To show her what we could have, and see if she would come with me? …or did I just take the coward's way out, and let her discover I'm just a con after all, so she would leave without me having to say a word… _

He walked into the bedroom, alone, and changed out of his suit. Then he took a shower, alone, and sat on the sofa in his elegant, expensive apartment, alone. At one point he reached for the laptop that sat on the cushion next to him – and stopped.

The treasure for the ages was no company at all, compared to one auburn-haired beauty.

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…_please feed the author…_


	12. As You Were: What Could Be

_This chapter begins immediately after "As You Were". _

_ An interlude for a man with too much in his head and no one to talk to...  
_

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_**As You Were: What Is**_

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* * *

Neal frowned thoughtfully as he wandered down the dark street.

He didn't know how long he had been sitting on the foot of Peter and El's bed. He certainly wasn't sure how long he stared at the picture. That picture of the team, Peter with an arm around Neal's shoulder wearing such a happy smile, so genuine, so … and somehow it hit harder, having everything concentrated in that little nook. The safe, which contained the important business; the picture of Peter and El, clearly his favorite, since it matched the one on his desk; and the picture of the team…

Frankly, he wasn't even sure if he really made a decision to leave. It all seemed totally automatic. Walking downstairs, patting Satch on the head. Checking the alarm, leaving through the back.

Thunder rumbled in the distance, and Neal nodded. _ It would just be the icing on the cake if it started raining on me… _But after a few minutes the thunder, like everything else, left him. Alone. _Even nature has a sullen opinion of me. _He didn't even know how he ended up walking toward the park. Perhaps it was his subconscious steering for him.

The park was small as far as parks go, but it was a quiet bit of space within his radius. Away from people, away from work, away from everything he wanted to do but couldn't; away from everyone he wanted to talk to but couldn't.

Neal sighed and slouched onto a bench, letting his head drop back to look up into the dark. A few stars fought their way through the New York City lightspill, and he nodded at them, fellow travelers in the night. _Far enough away that they can't smell the corruption, I suppose. Or they'd run screaming, and the sky would be full of falling stars..._ At least they knew where they were going, where they were supposed to be… he ran his hands through his hair. No matter where he was, he couldn't seem to get away from himself.

He almost had to laugh. Almost.

All his life he had considered himself some kind of loner. Yet here he was, alone… and his heart ached. _What a joke. I guess I've been lying to myself for most of my life. Some loner_. Moz had been there for him almost as long as he'd been on his own… then Kate, who he realized - if he was honest with himself - that he had clung to like a frightened child. And then there was Peter. _Peter_.

Neal shook his head slowly. Peter, who chased him for so long. Peter, who praised his intelligence and skill even as he doubted, and tried to redirect his efforts. Peter, who he felt in his heart that he could trust. _Hell. I still trust him. But then, he hasn't betrayed me. Not the way I... _

Working with Peter was like having an older brother who excelled at his job, and who didn't stand for you doing anything less than your best. He took a deep breath.

Then there was Elizabeth, who had every one of Peter's good qualities, and heaped on a share of her own. Peter made him a partner, but El - El made him family. _Yeah. And obviously, Caffrey, you've had such great lessons on how to treat family. _

And on top of everything he had been given here, there was Sara. _Sara_… The woman who knew what he was, started out wanting to kill him - and still seemed to care. Neal squeezed his eyes shut. _You knew she would never compromise, Caffrey. And if she had, she wouldn't be the woman you know her to be. You're a coward. So you just pushed her away._

A woman walked past, stopped, and looked over at him. "Hey, handsome."

He blinked, lifted his head, and looked at her. _Oh, boy._

She was petite but shapely, fluffy blond ringlets framing an angelic face. Her large eyes were brilliant green and slightly tilted, as if there was some exotic mix in her ancestry, or perhaps, a bit of elf. Full lips parted mischievously over bright white teeth. "You want some company?"

He looked again, taking in the short, elegant black dress and designer wrap. "No, thanks."

She shrugged, but her smile was cheerful even in its resignation. "Well, that's all right. I just finished up early tonight, the cab dropped me at the wrong block, and you looked kind of lonely." Glancing at a slim, silvery watch, she shook her head. "And now I have a couple hours to kill before I have to get to the airport."

"Airport?" He was curious in spite of himself.

Her head tilted as she looked at him. "That's right. Heading back to LA."

"Ah. Been in town long?"

"Just today. A … _special_ friend flew me in."

Neal found himself grinning at her calm confidence. "Just for the evening?"

"For dinner, I'll have you know. It happens, when you're really good at what you do." She gave his entirely black outfit a professional glance and chuckled. "And as I said, you look lonely… but I have a feeling you couldn't afford me, anyway. Have a good night."

He barked a bitter laugh. "You might be surprised."

She stopped and looked back at him. "Oh, really?" Her lips quirked. "What are you, some kind of cat burglar?"

"Something like that."

She took a step toward the bench and stopped. Her voice was stern. "It's not drugs, is it?"

He frowned, truly puzzled. "Drugs?"

"If you do have money. It's not because you –"

"Oh. No. I don't have anything to do with drugs."

"Good." She walked over to the bench and extended her hand delicately. "I'm Ariel."

He took her proffered hand. "Hello, Ariel. And believe me, you are quite lovely - but I was serious when I said I didn't want any company."

A musical laugh tinkled in the night. "Sweetheart, if you could see your face, you'd sue it for libel. I know lonely when I see it." She sat down and looked at him appraisingly. "Don't worry, I'm off the clock. It just seems like a lucky twist of fate that you need to talk and I have time."

He rested his elbows on his knees, and stared at the sidewalk. "I can't talk. And I don't deserve anyone's charity."

"You can talk to me. Professional courtesy." She grinned. "Listen, I'm not from around here, I'll be gone in three hours and you'll never see me again. So talk."

Several curls fell forward as he shook his head, his voice a grumbling growl. "Nope. I can't talk to anyone. Not Moz, because he won't understand. Not Peter, because I've betrayed him, or at least he'll see it that way. Not Sara… especially not Sara."

Ariel smiled sadly. "Sounds like you've spent most of the day burning bridges?"

Neal kept his head down, seemingly engrossed by the way the grass edged over the sidewalk. "Something like that. Except maybe it's been my whole life."

"I see. So now, none of these former friends will speak to you?"

"No… _I_ can't speak to _them_. I've got _so_ many stories in the air, so many nearly-the-facts, that I'm afraid that if I relax my guard for a minute, for a _second_, I'll drop it all, and lose _everything_." His voice became hard as he spoke, so hard that it cracked. She let the emotion she heard settle before she spoke again.

Shifting so that she was sitting next to him, their shoulders brushing lightly, she waited until his breathing seemed more steady.

"So. Tell me about this 'Moz'. No, wait…" She paused, thoughtfully. "I think maybe you should start with 'Sara'."

"Listen, Ariel, I appreciate –"

"Shut up and talk, handsome. You know you want to. Start with Sara. You don't have to give me any background details. Just tell me what's hurting so bad today."

He was _so_ tired. Emotionally, physically… and she was being so kind. And if he didn't talk to someone soon... "Fine. Sara and I have been… well…"

"I get the picture. What happened?"

"Let's just say that I… made a business deal she couldn't approve of. And when she found out, she left."

"Ah. That's rough, handsome. But she might come back."

"I doubt it."

"Can you undo the deal?"

He turned his head toward her. "What do you mean?"

"Undo the deal. If it was monkey business, and she doesn't approve –" her head tilted. "Ah. But you don't know if you _want_ to give up the monkey business. It's what would let you afford me, if you weren't in love with her."

"I never said I was in love –"

"What about Maz?"

"Moz."

"Right."

Neal sighed, and turned back to staring at the sidewalk. "Moz was part of the… monkey business deal. And he's glad that I'm free to go through with it now, with Sara out of the picture."

"Ouch." She shook her head. "Doesn't sound like a very good friend."

Neal shrugged. "He's a good friend… just very single minded. We were working on this for a long time."

"But it must have hurt when he said something like that."

"Yeah."

She looked thoughtful. "So that leaves 'Peter', right? Is he part of the monkeying?"

The con man's sigh spoke volumes to her. "Quite the contrary. If he knew I was this involved, if he knew I was planning to take off…" He sat up, dropped his head back. "It would … I don't know."

"It would break his heart."

Neal jerked his head back. "What makes you say that?"

She gave him a knowing look. "Trust me, handsome, in my business you have to be able to read people."

He chuckled. "Mine, too."

"Well then. Trust me when I say I can see it in your eyes, hear it in your voice. You respect this Peter. And you're as afraid of hurting him as you are of hurting Sara." Her head tilted. "Does he know Sara walked?"

"Yeah."

She waited for him to go on, and when he didn't, she smiled gently. "What did _he_ say?"

Neal sat and stared. In his mind, he was in Peter's bedroom, breaking and entering, breaking trust – and his phone rang. He relived the moment as if it was just happening.

_"Listen… I know you and I have had to keep things from each other… but if you want to talk… I mean, really talk… I'm here for you." It was all so clear in his voice. Peter Burke was not an overtly emotional person, but he felt deeply. If you were someone he cared about, he would move heaven and earth, or die trying… _

_Neal had tried to laugh it off. "Is this the loneliness of the van talking?"_

_"Maybe. Maybe. But I think you deserve some happiness. And whatever I can do to help with that… let me know."_

_"Thanks, Peter."_

And remembering that moment, something in Neal's heart broke.

When he came to himself, Ariel's hand was rubbing slow circles on his back, and his breath was coming in deep gasps. He blinked several times as he sat back again, drawing his sleeve back across his eyes. She watched him carefully.

"And you want to walk away from a friend like that?"

He shook his head. "You don't understand. It's not that easy. I can have it all."

"Really. And what is 'having it all' for you?"

He sighed without realizing it, hearing the echoes of his own voice, echoes of what he told Jones so recently when asked the same question.

_"Never having to worry about money. Doing something that's meaningful, surrounded by people I care about and respect… that's pretty much the dream."_

Neal took a deep breath, and stared out into the night. Beside him, Ariel rubbed his back once more, and standing, gathered her things. "Well, handsome. I think you know, somewhere in there, what you really want. I just hope you have the guts to follow through."

He stood and pushed his hair back. "Listen, Ariel… thank you for listening."

She nodded with an easy smile. "Sometimes we just have to hear what we're thinking out loud. I enjoyed meeting you." She squinted at him. "You're a good man."

He laughed. "Well. Thank you for that."

"I call 'em like I see 'em." Grinning, she pulled her wrap closer around her.

Neal looked back and forth down the street. "Can I… walk you to your hotel? Call you a cab?"

The woman tilted her head at him, considering. "Well, I guess an escort to the hotel would do the trick." She smirked at her wording, and he relaxed.

They walked in comfortable silence in the New York night, and Ariel wrapped her hand demurely around his arm. It was quiet, yet all Neal knew was that he didn't feel quite so alone. At the door, she offered her hand once more. "Thanks, h-"

"Neal."

Her eyes brightened. "Why, thank you, Neal. Good luck."

He took her hand, bowed low and kissed it. "Good luck to you, Ariel. Safe travels."

Waiting until she was in, he waved goodbye; and putting his hands in his pockets, he walked thoughtfully back toward his apartment.

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…_please feed the author…_


	13. On The Fence: Greener Grass

_A few conversations... a little short, but I was hoping to catch up before tomorrow. Starts mid-episode, when Neal and Sara meet for the second time..._

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oOo

_**On The Fence: Greener Grass**_

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* * *

The expression singing in blue eyes as he looked at her could be described as tender, and perhaps, a bit hopeful. "I hope you don't forget everything between us."

"No." Sara looked at him for a moment, sympathetically, and her eyes brightened with a bit of mischief. "I won't forget that Raphael you stole."

Neal took a breath. "Allegedly." They grinned at each other, and she walked toward Peter's office to make her statement. Neal stood and watched after her for a long moment, not knowing what had changed… but feeling, somehow, that something was _almost_ right with the world. Like their relationship had been reset to the beginning - or technically, just _past_ the beginning - when they were at least able to be friends.

Sitting down at his desk and thinking, he tapped absently with his pencil until Diana pointedly cleared her throat at him. "Ah. Sorry." With an effort, he got back to work on the file he had been assigned.

That is, until some forty-five minutes later when Peter glared down at him, giving him the classic two-fingered point-and-summon. Neal stood, straightened his jacket and trotted up the stairs, following the agent into his office.

"So." Peter's annoyance at the entire affair was obvious as he indicated Neal should sit. "You'll be happy, and probably not surprised at all, to know that both Raquel's and Sara's stories mesh with yours." Burke shook his head as he looked over the statements, mumbling to himself, "I don't know how you do it. Must be that 'bad boy' syndrome."

The younger man shrugged, not making eye contact.

"Now I want you to contact your criminal superfriends, see if there's any word on the street about Keller."

"Okay."

Neal stared at the door, not moving, not saying anything else. Peter watched him for a moment, tilting his head. "What's going on, Caffrey?"

Neal blinked, shook his head. "Oh. Don't worry. I'll check on the street for -"

Peter dropped a look at him, and felt concerned in spite of himself. "Come on, Neal. You've been staring at that door for five minutes."

Neal looked back at the desk, hesitated, and finally shrugged. It's not like it was about the treasure. Or Keller. Or… he sighed. "I was just thinking about Raquel."

Peter rolled his eyes, and nearly groaned in exasperation. _Just when I think he's getting a little more mature about things -_ "Really. The exotic, beautiful thief… like I said before, no wonder you're interested –"

"That's the thing." The younger man's eyes met Peter's with something like an electric shock. Neal being honest and open always had a certain, strange effect.

Peter's eyebrows came together as he felt the pull of an old, familiar connection. No matter what they were going through, it seemed they always had that ability to put it aside when there was something else going on. Something _real_. He exhaled heavily. Whether he wanted to or not, he was abruptly talking to his best friend again, and not a man he suspected of – well, just about _everything_. "What's the thing?"

Neal dropped his head back. "The thing is… the idea that she's so… _perfect_ for me. That's what's making me wonder, I guess. I just don't get it."

The FBI agent waited, his curiosity piqued.

Neal picked up the pen on the desk in front of him and ran it through his fingers, twirling it across his knuckles. "She's beautiful, right?"

"Obviously."

"And besides that, she's the kind of woman who would make – who _would_ have made – a great partner for a con man. Don't you think?"

"Yeah." Peter's concerned expression slowly softened. "You could have done a lot of damage together, that's for sure."

"So why, then…" Neal stopped, stared at the door once more. The door that someone else had walked through not so very long ago.

Peter managed a small grin. "You're wondering, if _she's_ so perfect, and _you're_ supposedly available… why you aren't interested?"

Bright blue eyes snapped back to his. "Yeah." He frowned. "Not even a twinge." He looked profoundly uncomfortable for a moment. "A year ago, I would have, well…"

The agent watched him for a while, then shrugged. "Maybe you've found something more important."

"Yeah, right. And lost it." _Or threw it away…_ Neal's eyes dropped to the table, and Peter shook his head. The agent sat down behind his desk and regarded the younger man with exasperated amusement. Eventually, Neal spoke again.

"So… during the statement… did she say anything about me?"

Peter blinked innocently. "Raquel?"

Neal looked up, annoyed, and then reacted in surprise - a bit startled to see the held back grin on Peter's face. "No. Not Raquel."

"Oh, you must mean _Sara_."

"Come on, Peter…"

The agent looked around as if someone might be listening, then leaned over the desk. "Listen, Neal. Between you and me?"

"Yes?" The hopeful expression on that face, the one that made him look closer to fifteen than thirty, nearly did Peter in.

"I don't think you're out of the game."

"You don't?"

"Nope. Not out. Not traded away. Not even sent down to the minors."

Neal stared for a moment, lifted one eyebrow as he swam through the unfamiliar waters of the sports metaphors. "Just - benched?"

"Yes. Currently." The warmth in Peter's voice was obvious. "Seriously, Neal. I get the impression she still cares. A lot. Which makes me wonder just what pushed her away…" He sighed, and dropped it, not wanting to stir that particular pot at the moment. "I'm just saying, Neal. Don't be so quick to give up on something that makes you happy. You deserve to be happy."

Their eyes met again, and Neal looked away first. "Maybe she just realized what I am. And realized that she deserves better than a semi-reformed con man."

Peter made a noise. "Come on. I don't think it's anything as cold as that."

The phrase gave Neal a bit of a start.

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Although he hated to admit it, it was certainly his conversations with Neal that made Peter sit down on the edge of the bed, and confess to El that it was Keller they were dealing with. Her reaction was controlled, but he knew exactly how upset she was, and felt like a heel for hurting her. As usual, she tried to ease them back into some kind of normalcy after stating her feelings on the matter, and making it clear that if he did it again, there would be trouble.

"So… there's some kind of bounty on him?"

"All we know at this point is that they're willing to pay six million dollars to make him go away." He blinked, thoughtfully, as he looked away from El. "Six million…"

"What is it?"

"Not sure. But…"

"Peter?"

He turned and looked at her. "Have you talked to Mozzie at all lately?"

She blinked at him, still tired, and pushed her hair back over her ear. "Not in the last day or two. Why?"

"Hale, the fence that was killed. Neal knew him, but evidently he and Mozzie were close."

"Oh, no…" her instant concern warmed his heart. "How is Mozzie doing?"

"I don't know… but I'm wondering if he was upset enough to put out a call for justice."

El's eyes widened. "You think Mozzie took out the hit on Keller?"

"I don't know," Peter spoke softly. "But it make a certain kind of sense."

"But where would Mozzie get six million…" Elizabeth's voice trailed off.

"Neal said he didn't steal the treasure, and the lie detector said he was telling the truth. I just wonder, if it wasn't him…"

"But –"

"We know Mozzie has all the connections, but Neal is a lot more _careful_ than he is."

She shrugged. "Unless you're talking about germs, or aliens."

"Right." They grinned at each other, and he looked thoughtful again. "I wonder. If _Mozzie_ had the treasure, what would that mean?"

"I still can't believe he would put a bounty on someone. Even Keller. I can't imagine Mozzie coming that close to murder…"

Peter's head dropped to the side. "I know what you mean, but you didn't see him after we found Hale. If he thought Keller was coming after someone he cared about…"

"Like Neal?"

"Yeah…" Peter's brow furrowed as he looked at his wife, and then off toward the window. _If _Keller_ knew Mozzie had the treasure, and was trying to threaten people Moz cared about…_

Elizabeth sat and watched him slowly unbutton his shirt, his gaze somewhere off in the distance. Leaning forward, she kissed his cheek. "Can you let your brain sit on it overnight, and just come to bed now?"

Blinking back to himself, he nodded apologetically. It was, after all, two in the morning. "Of course." He kissed her. "I love you."

"I love you too."

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"If they find out, we're done, Moz. We're done."

"I get the distinct feeling we're done already."

Neal rolled his eyes. "Come on, Moz! You know what I mean. Are you really that selfish?"

"What?"

"You _know_ that you don't have any outstanding criminal record here, so you can just take off at any moment, leave this all behind – and even come back to _visit_ if you feel like it. I mean, seriously, who would care if _Dante Haversham_ showed up in town to take in a show? But _Neal Caffrey_, now, there's another story. Neal Caffrey is supposed to be _serving time_. Neal Caffrey lied to the _feds_. Hell, even if Peter _did_ see you in town, he'd probably only follow you - to try to take me back to prison!"

"And maybe I'd let him."

"Maybe you would! I just don't know anymore!"

The temperature in the room seemed to drop abruptly.

"_You_ don't know anymore? What about _me_? Here I am, risking life and limb, throwing six million dollars out into the New York streets because I was trying to _keep you alive_! And now I see that it was completely unappreciated – and evidently unnecessary. The great and powerful _Caffrey_ doesn't need anyone or anything." The little man pushed back from the table, and turned toward the door.

"Moz…" The young con man blinked quickly, as if he were waking from a bad dream. _Did I just say that? _"Moz, listen, I'm sorry –"

"No, Neal. Don't talk to me. There is nothing you have to say that I have any interest in hearing. Good bye." The door slammed behind him.

"Moz!"

The sound of his call mixed in his mind with the echo of the slamming door. He stood there, alone, catching his breath. Ordering his thoughts, he pulled out his phone and dialed Moz's number. It went directly to voice mail. "Moz… I'm sorry. Call me. Please?"

He put the phone down and picked up a glass of wine. Knowing Moz, he'd need to cool down. But maybe he could draw him out sooner… there was just so little time…

Neal took a deep breath and exhaled slowly.

_When am I going to stop destroying every relationship I have? When do I decide it's time to stop running, and take a stand? How can anyone trust me, when I can't even trust myself to figure out what I really want? _

He took another sip, and ended up downing the whole glass.

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_…please feed the author…_


	14. Countdown: Decision

This one is incredibly short, and I apologize for that. I did, however, want to get it up before the new season began. Hoping for the best, and hoping you like this.

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Countdown: Decision

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Neal stepped out onto the balcony, walking quickly to the tempered Plexiglas railing. Almost without thinking, he stopped and turned. There he was. The man he was trying so hard to keep his secret from. The man he most wanted to tell about this amazing swap he was pulling off. _Peter_. No one's praise felt better, no one's disappointment hurt more. Neal watched for only a second before vaulting easily over the rail, balancing himself precariously on the six inch ledge. Shaking his head, he looks down.

_I wonder what would happen if I just jumped. Never had to lie to anyone ever again, never hurt anyone… Never disappointed them…_

Taking a deep breath, he clung to the rail with one hand while reaching for his hat. It was the easiest way to see how the wind was drifting between the buildings, and if he would need to angle a certain way. Tossing the fedora away from the roof, he watched as it fell relatively straight, and he shook his head with a shrug. It had been years since he last did any base jumping.

_Okay. At this height, a count of eight, then pull. You can do this…. _

Unable to stall any longer, he took a swan-dive into the open air, calling his first number in his mind as the rush of adrenaline kicked his mind into overdrive.

EIGHT

The wind whipped his hair back, made his eyes water. And abruptly, in a flash, he saw an alternate life.

_Peter walked into the prison meeting room, and looked at him. Abruptly the image changed from Peter to Kramer. "So you think you want to be a CI?" He barely looked at the file in front of him. "Too big a flight risk. From the look of this record I'll see you again in four years anyway." The agent dropped the file on the desk. "Good luck". For a moment the image was Peter once more, a sad expression in his dark eyes, his lips forming a single word._

SEVEN

_Neal sat in the prison library, studying everything he could about Adler. As he scanned the images on line, his blood ran cold as he saw the woman standing next to him. Kate. A video showed them running to his private plane, holding hands._

SIX

_Parole was denied. Again. "Look, Caffrey. Trying to break out, messing with the library files… you're not helping your case. Just knock it off, and maybe you'll get out of here in four."_

FIVE

_Three years passed. He gave up on attempting to contact Kate. He gave up on trying to follow Adler. He gave up…_

FOUR

_The guard hands him a box, containing all his worldly possessions before his incarceration. It is pathetically light, especially since they kept the illegal ID's and his lockpicks. "Good luck, Caffrey," the guard calls after him. "Try to keep your nose clean."_

_The only place he could afford to live is a threadbare motel room. Plans to get a job dissolve like ice on a hot day, as soon as any prospective employer reads that he was a con man. The economy is bad. His is worse._

THREE

_Mozzie came to visit once or twice at the motel, but couldn't take the dirt. And couldn't take seeing his old cohort looking the way he does: unshaven, wearing jeans and a flannel shirt over a less than pristine undershirt. There is a hesitation, an unsteady quality to the figure. Soon he visits less, then not at all._

TWO

_There is a knock on the door. Neal opens it, and recognizes a man he hasn't seen in over four years. "Yes?" The man looks at the apparition that stands before him, surprised at how his time in jail has aged him. "Neal Caffrey?"_

_"Yeah?"_

_"Peter Burke."_

_"I remember."_

_The agent nods thoughtfully. "I'm wondering if you'd be willing to help on an art theft case I'm working on –"_

_"Why? Why would you trust me?"_

_The agent grins. "I think you're worth the risk."_

ONE

Neal pulled the cord and suddenly all that mattered was steering the chute down safely. A perfect landing, unhooking himself as he walked toward Mozzie, unclipping the tube that carried six million dollars in art and passing it deftly over.

With a smile, he glanced down at the street, and saw his fedora. The ultimate definition of himself. And suddenly he realized that all he wanted to do at that moment was share this victory with someone, for it not to be a secret… and his decision was made. Adjusting the brim of his hat with his customary swagger, he went to find the one man who made him want to be worthy of trust.

Taking a deep breath, he felt a new path open before him. Decisions that would need to be made, truths that would need to be told... but he was ready.

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…_please feed the author…_


	15. Checkmate: Knight to Queen, Too

_I did enjoy the way they began the new season. There was a solidity that I feared was lost... but of course, there's always something. Hoping you enjoy..._

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_**Checkmate: Knight to Queen, Too **_

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Neal looked across the table at the man who had changed his life. _Why did I want to stay?_ The answer came without any necessary thought.

"You."

The younger man watched as Peter's expression changed. Clearly he was surprised, but more than that: he was genuinely touched. Hopeful, yet hesitant to believe what he was hearing. Neal went on, encouraged by the warmth he could still feel showing in his partner's eyes.

"Elizabeth… Sara. The view out that window. Getting off the elevator in the morning…" His smile, vulnerable but honest, brightened the room.

There. He had said it. Surely Peter would understand, and -

_No_. _Take it easy, Caffrey. Don't get your hopes up too high._

oOo

Even after it was over, and Elizabeth was safe, he couldn't picture Peter forgiving him… at least, not right away. Maybe, _maybe_, in a few weeks… or months even, maybe they could find their way to level ground once more. Lord knows it wouldn't be the first time they struggled with their friendship… But he realized, as he watched the man who he felt somehow would always be part of his life… there was something even more important right now. There was someone whose forgiveness he needed even more, and soon. If it was even possible to get.

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Elizabeth Burke took a deep breath as she stood at the kitchen sink, looking out the window into the back yards of her neighborhood. She felt so… _safe_ here. Memories kept cycling through her mind: being taken, sitting in that room, being threatened by Keller, realizing that the ring that had first promised her to her husband might be her way out…

Slowly, a smile grew on her face. _Well, look at you, Elizabeth Burke. And you never dreamed that you were capable –_

A quiet knock interrupted her thought. It was oddly hesitant, as if the knocker wasn't quite committed. A small frown piqued her eyebrows as she put down her mug of tea and walked down the hall. Pulling back the curtain, she glanced through the window before opening the front door.

Neal stood on the front step, waiting. He had been standing there for a good quarter of an hour. He had been standing since he first walked up to the door, the bouquet in hand. The bouquet that was now lying in the side yard, abandoned. _Stupid_, he thought. _ Elizabeth can't be bought with a bunch of flowers, not even the most expensive long stemmed yellow roses you could find_. He had given up on the idea of chocolates while he was still at the gourmet candy store. The fine bottle of wine? It had been appropriated by Mozzie. There was nothing, nothing he could _give_ her that might sincerely win her forgiveness. Nothing. Except… _maybe_… honesty. He felt absolutely naked as he stood on the front step.

The door opened. "Neal?"

El watched as the most cool, composed man she knew failed to be able to maintain eye contact. If she didn't know better, she would have said he looked like a frightened child. She saw him swallow hard before his eyes finally brushed hers, and he spoke.

"Elizabeth." He looked at her briefly, only seeing her thoughtful frown. "Ah… is Peter here?" While he wanted to talk to her privately, he had to allow for the fact that there was a good chance she wouldn't be comfortable if they were alone.

"Not yet. He had to pick a few things up on the way home." She stepped back, expecting him to follow her in. When he didn't, she tilted her head. "Neal? Are you okay?"

"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine, I –" His eyes, deeply blue with emotion, met hers once more.

Elizabeth frowned, concerned, and then blinked.

Neal took a deep breath. "Elizabeth…"

She waited. When he didn't speak, she nodded gently, a small smile instinctively trying to put him at ease. "Yes?"

He looked at his feet, as if they had some great wisdom to impart. Then he found the doorbell fascinating, before looking at her again. His question, when it came, was an uncomfortable whisper. "Are you… okay?"

Suddenly, she understood. "Neal…"

"Listen, Elizabeth… I don't know what to say. No, I know what to say. I just don't know how to say it. Elizabeth…" His voice cracked, and his face fell. "I'm sorry. Really. I'm so, _so_ sorry…"

El watched him, her expression softening in sympathy.

"It's my fault; it's all been my fault. I mean, if I had only told Peter… if I had just…" His voice caught. "I'm so sorry. I don't know if you can ever forgive me, but I wanted to tell you. I had to tell you..."

"Oh, Neal…" She looked at the man who had become, along with being her husband's best friend, the closest thing she had to a little brother. Her voice was gentle. "Neal."

He looked up at her. He wasn't sure just what he expected to see, but his partner's wife, the woman who he had been responsible for getting kidnapped, threatened and possibly killed – he didn't expect to see her with her arms outstretched, ready to hug him. He squeezed his eyes shut, even as he found himself stepping into her embrace.

"It's okay, Neal. I'm fine. Really." She rubbed her hand over his back. "In fact," she said, pulling back a bit to look him in the eye, "you were a big help. Come on in."

He nearly gasped. "I was a big help? Are you serious?"

She stepped over the threshold. "Come on." She took his arm and led him into the kitchen, sitting him down at the table. "Tea?"

He nodded. "Sure…?"

It was quiet for a few moments as she found him a mug. Satch wandered in and Neal scratched his head absently, frowning as the dog rested its head affectionately on his knee. Pouring the tea, Elizabeth sat and took a sip before speaking.

"It was scary. It was really scary. I'm not going to pretend it wasn't."

Neal nodded, tense, warming his hands around the mug.

"But once I knew it was Keller…" she sighed, her expression set. "I don't know what I wanted more. To kick him in the groin, or to escape. The man is insufferable. Smart, yes, but insufferable." El looked at Neal, and a small grin passed between them. "Peter – the FBI – tries to make sure families are coached on how to handle things like that. You don't ever expect them to happen, but Peter talked about it enough that I knew he worried, so I listened. I tried to use the techniques they taught us, but Keller knew exactly what I was doing."

Neal nodded. "Peter said he knew our playbook better than we do."

El looked at him, registering _'our_ playbook' without pointing out just how closely Neal associated himself with the agency. "Exactly. So I sat there, and I found myself trying to figure out what to do next… and the thought that saved me was this." She sipped her tea again, and looked into his eyes. "I took a deep breath, and thought, _what would Peter and Neal do if they were here_?"

He blinked. "Seriously?"

"Yep." Her shoulders squared proudly as she stared into her mug. "So I looked around the room, thinking that Peter would see what was there that he could use… I didn't see much. So I tried to think what I had on me. They didn't let me take my purse, I didn't have anything in my pockets… then I looked at my hand, and wondered if my ring could scratch glass." She grinned. "I tried the glass table in front of me, and it did."

Neal shook his head. "Peter told me. That was brilliant, Elizabeth."

"Yes, but it wasn't enough. I looked at the idiot who was watching me. A dangerous idiot, but clearly a henchman. And I thought… _how would Neal get inside his head, convince him to leave me alone long enough to use my ring on that window_?"

The con man's eyes widened.

"I looked at his hand, and thought of the dog bite. I'd already tried to let Peter know that Satch bit one of them, and I know you've talked about how the best cons are mostly true… so I only used facts. Between that and turning up the thermostat, I had him." She smiled broadly, reaching over to put a hand on his. "So, Neal, thank you. Your training really helped me."

Neal was quiet for a long moment. He looked at El, his mouth opened, but nothing came out. He shook his head. "Elizabeth…" She gave his hand a squeeze. "I…"

A rich baritone called from the front hall. "El?"

Neal swallowed hard as Peter walked into the kitchen. "Hey, hon, I –" He stopped, holding the grocery bag in his hand as he took in the scene at his kitchen table. "Neal?" His eyes, already dark, seemed to darken farther. "What are you doing here?"

"Peter, I –"

Elizabeth was up and hugging her husband before anything else could be said. "Hey, hon." She kissed him softly, and looked into his eyes. "Don't be upset. He came to see me."

He looked at her, and, as usual, melted under her gaze. "You didn't have to let him in."

She smiled. "I know."

Neal stood, uneasily. "Peter. I came to apologize to Elizabeth. I'll go –"

"Neal." El looked over at their younger friend. "Sit." Without thinking, he sat. She smiled, and looked back at her husband. "I think I'll put some dinner together. Why don't you two relax in the living room? There's beer in the fridge."

"No." Neal looked up at her. "Really. I'd be happy to help."

Elizabeth smiled warmly at Neal, but then looked at Peter, who was trying to remain stoic. It didn't work. She leaned into him and whispered softly. "Sweetheart…" He looked back at her, shook his head, and then nodded. He could read her unspoken words in her eyes. _I want this. _ His voice was a bare whisper as he responded.

"Okay." He kissed his wife's cheek, and looked back to Neal. "Okay, Caffrey. Let's do what she says." Putting one hand on his partner's shoulder, he led him to the family room. They sat down and Peter, almost automatically, picked up the remote and turned on the tv, which was tuned to a hockey game. They watched for a few minutes before Neal broke the silence.

"Peter?"

The FBI agent held up a hand. "Listen, Neal. If El wants you here, then… you're welcome here."

Blue eyes searched his face. "But you're still not sure…"

"Neal…" Peter looked at his partner, and then glanced toward the kitchen. "Let's just let it sit, okay?" Then his eyes returned to the tv. "Oh, please. That was tripping."

Neal blinked, swallowed, and looked at the screen as well. "Yeah. Tripping. For sure."

Peter nodded, sipped his beer, and exhaled slowly.

Someday, Neal was nearly sure, they would find their way back to level ground.

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…_please feed the author…_


	16. Upper West Side Story: By Any Other Name

_Upper West Side Story, wherein Neal becomes a substitute teacher as he and Peter chase an embezzling school financial officer. There was a tone to this that I really enjoyed. I know I've used several bits from the show, as well… but there was so much going on I really wanted to address the thoughts, and needed to show what I was tying them to. I hope you enjoy._

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_**Upper West Side Story: By Any Other Name**_

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"Hon…"

"El, I can't pretend that I'm ready to trust him yet. He has no respect for the law."

"Peter…" They looked at each other over their morning coffee, and tried to not start the day with a fight. "He's here. He's _trying_. He only wants -"

"Yeah, he's trying, all right."

She looked down at her mug, silent, and Peter sighed. "Sorry. I didn't mean to –"

"You have to do what you think is right, Peter." With an uncharacteristic tightness, she stood and walked with her mug to the sink, dumping the rest of her coffee unceremoniously down the drain. "I just keep thinking of what he gave up. What he was willing to do to make things right. It's not as if he doesn't know what going back to prison would be like… " Peter rolled his eyes and regretted it instantly as he saw her expression harden. She nodded curtly. "Fine. I guess there's nothing more to discuss. I should get to work."

"El –"

"You have a good day." She fumbled with her purse, and was startled when Peter appeared in front of her.

"El." He put his hands on her shoulders. "I'm sorry."

"I don't want to get in the way of your work."

"El, please." He blinked, his shoulders dropping. "I know you trust him. I know that."

"You just don't respect my opinion."

"I do respect it. I do. I just…you're a very trusting person. And that's a wonderful quality. But I have to follow the law. I have to…"

Her eyes lifted to meet his. "There are things more important than the letter of the law, Peter, and you know it."

He dropped his hands, his head falling back, and heard her exhale.

"I'll see you later."

"El –"

She stopped, one hand on the door, and looked back at him.

He gave her a tight smile, and his gravelly voice wavered just a bit. "Have a good day, Hon." In his eyes, she saw the soul of the man who had nearly lost his wife. The man who would have moved heaven and earth to save her. The man who had no idea how to resolve the fear, anger and betrayal he still felt.

For a moment she stared at him, and finally, her gaze softened. Life was too short, and too precarious to part on these terms. If the last few weeks hadn't proven that, nothing would. "I love you, too." She stepped forward and kissed him softly. When she opened her eyes, her voice was quiet. "Just… I know he's your friend. Try to put yourself in his shoes. Okay?" Without waiting, she was out the door.

Peter stood and watched after her for a long while. A faint whine near his knee made him look down, and he saw Satchmo staring up at him. "I _do_ respect her opinion." The big yellow dog sneezed and shook his head in what Peter, in his current state, took as an editorial opinion. "Yeah. Great. I suppose you're ready to just welcome Neal into the family, too." He frowned as the dog tilted its head at him, wagging hesitantly. "No. Don't answer that." He sighed heavily before shaking himself and heading off to work.

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* * *

Certainly the day continued to be interesting as they met Evan, of the tabbed visual aids. Their quickly formulated plan kept the partners from discussing more delicate things, which frankly, was fine for both of them.

They arrived at the school, and Peter felt confident in his own ability to play the rich father. In fact, he found himself speaking about his son in terms he clearly attributed to a certain partner: very intelligent, but impulsive… the bright ones always try to break the rules… and then…

It was much later that Agent Peter Burke trudged wearily back to his office at the FBI.

It was so _typical_. Why did he even _try_ to trust the man? All he told Neal to do was sit, stay… hell, even Satch could do that much. But no, he had to go and find a classroom to play in, to con the school into seeing him as a substitute teacher… which, he had to admit even to himself, the guy was pretty good at. The kids were really interested.

_But that wasn't the point. The point was to focus on the job._ Well, he actually _was_ focusing on the job. Seeing Chloe's name on the class list, and deciding to go meet her, was certainly focusing on the case. _ But that wasn't the point. The point was that he didn't do what I told him. _ No, he did better than what you told him to do, given the talent he has and the opportunity given him.

"But that's not the point –" he stopped abruptly, realizing he was standing alone in the elevator, not only talking out loud, but in the midst of a rather heated argument _with himself_. He slumped against the back wall of the elevator and stared up as the numbers changed, mumbling almost incoherently. "He's going to drive me crazy."

What _was_ the point?

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Peter shook his head as he sat in his office later, after hours, talking to Neal. "And you'll be back teaching tomorrow"… his partner looked ridiculously enthusiastic. _Where had this glowing scholar come from? _ But it was convenient to the case, if nothing else.

And the next morning, dropping Neal off blocks from the school had almost felt fun. "You're embarrassed to be seen with me. So you better hurry."

Neal had looked at him through the Clark Kent glasses, realizing that this was, in essence, a test. "Yes. And I'll hurry, because I'm an eager young substitute teacher."

"Textbook behavior, Neal. I mean it."

Caffrey suppressed a groan. "Couldn't help yourself. "

"Nope." Neal hopped out of the car, and Peter found himself grinning. It was tough to stay mad at the man when they were working, when they felt like friends, those great moments when working together could actually be fun. _ If I could just trust him to only do what he was told. _He gave the younger man a sarcastic wave as he drove past him.

Neal arrived at the school quickly, and spoke quietly through the earpiece communications. "Peter, Slater is leaving his office. He's putting an envelope in a book in a locker…"

"Can you tell whose it is?"

"Not from here. I could break in…" Neal smirked a bit, knowing what his partner's response would be. Then the bell rang. "Class is about to start. Kids are heading for their lockers."

"If somebody picks up that text book, we lose the envelope…" Peter looked around, wondering what he could do to stall the mass of students in the hall. He saw a familiar red box on the wall, and shook his head. "I have an idea." He moved quickly to the box, reached for it. Automatically, his mind went through the ramifications of pulling a fire alarm, and he hesitated. A _false_ alarm.

All his talk about upholding the law came back and screamed in his ears. With his eyes closed, one hand on the lever, he could picture his wife's face, one eyebrow raised. In his mind's eye, he saw her, heard her.

_So I guess if you break the law, it's a different story… or do you have some other name for this when you do it?_

_It's for a case._

_It's a lie._

_It's –_

_Hmm. I guess sometimes you just have to improvise. Maybe that's the point._

He jerked the lever down, the blue paint indicator spattering across his hand. A certain substitute teacher, hiding in the hallway, blinked in surprise as the students began to file out of the building.

"Did you just -?" Neal nearly laughed.

"Just get to the damn locker." Peter dashed from the building, already calling Diana to alert the fire marshal as to what had happened.

The worst part might have been watching Neal sitting in gleeful silence back at the office as he tried to wash the blue off his hands. _He probably knows what would take it off fastest, too. I'll be damned if I'll ask._

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Another successful case closed… but the day wasn't over.

Special Agent Peter Burke sat in the meeting, feeling all of his best techniques kicking into gear. He told his story, calmly, truthfully, and just enough of it – and stopped. One of the interviewers checked his notes.

"Agent Burke… you seem to say here that Mr. Caffrey often takes matters into his own hands. Do you think that's safe?"

Peter frowned slightly, his lips pursed. "Neal is highly intelligent. He's able to improvise on the spot, given what information we have…"

"But does he obey orders?"

Agent Burke felt himself bristle, and looked at them over folded hands. "I asked for him to be added to my unit because of his abilities… it wouldn't make much sense if I did that and then expected him not to use them, would it? He does his best to follow my lead, but… he's not a dog. He uses his own intelligence to further our case work. It certainly shows in our success rate. I mean, after all." He grinned at them sensibly. "That's the point of having him, isn't it?"

_Yeah. That's the point._

oOo

Neal watched nervously as the interviewers left the building. No one acknowledged him. For all he knew, they didn't even recognize him apart from his paperwork. But still… they looked satisfied. They looked like a job had been finished.

He walked into the office where Peter sat, writing, and felt his stomach stop churning when his partner started talking about their next case. Hesitantly, he began.

"I know I complicate your life –"

"Stop. Don't say anything else."

"Can I say 'thank you'?"

"I told them the truth."

"But you didn't tell them everything."

Peter sighed, stood up from the desk, and walked over to Neal, glancing around to see if they were alone. When they were within arm's reach, he paused, deep brown eyes focused intently on the younger man.

"What you did on this case, how you carried yourself-" He paused, thoughtfully. "Makes me believe this partnership can work."

Neal swallowed hard. He didn't realize until that moment how much he needed to hear those words. Almost overcome by relief and something else – this feeling of truly _caring_ what Peter thought of him - he took a breath. "I know what this opportunity means. Trust me."

Peter looked into the sincere, vulnerable blue gaze and exhaled a breath he didn't know he'd been holding.

_I'm trying, partner. I'm trying._

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…_please feed the author…_


	17. Neighborhood Watch: Angel on my Shoulder

_Neighborhood Watch - when El investigated her neighbors, chased them down, and impersonated an FBI agent. Just another day in NYC._

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_**Neighborhood Watch: Angel on My Shoulder  
**_

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Neal glanced up from his work briefly as he saw Agent Peter Burke walking through the big glass doors of the White Collar division. He returned to his work and then stopped, looking up again.

After Elizabeth's impersonation of an FBI agent yesterday, he wasn't sure what it might be like in the office today – but he certainly didn't expect the huge grin that he was witnessing now. Neal wondered just what might have his partner in such a good mood. An appraising glance told him that Peter was well rested, relaxed, happy…_ ah._ _Spousal immunity must have its price…_

Peter looked at him, and the smile faded somewhat as his eyebrows lifted. "Neal? What are you grinning about?"

The younger man was suddenly the image of confused innocence. "Just glad you're in a good mood, boss. I mean… yesterday was really something."

Peter looked off in the distance, and the ghost of his smile returned. "Yeah. It sure was."

Neal smirked, briefly, before clearing his throat. "Ah… we still on for dinner tonight? Or are you and Elizabeth…"

Peter snapped his gaze back to his younger partner. "No, no. We're expecting you." Abruptly his expression changed as he clicked back into work mode. "You have those files?"

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"Mrs. Suit. Dinner was amazing."

"Why, thank you, Mozzie. And thank you for bringing the wine."

Peter looked at his partner, and turned his head to mumble under his breath. "Did he really bring the wine?"

Neal responded just as quietly. "Oh, he _brought_ it. Carried it the whole way from my wine collection at the apartment…" They shared a grin while Mozzie and Elizabeth chatted. After a few moments, Mozzie caught Peter's eye, and the agent nodded.

"Neal. Do me a favor and help El with dessert, okay?"

"Sure… what's going on?"

"Mozzie and I have to talk." He stood and picked up his glass. "Moz? Join me for some fresh air?"

The little con man rose and clutched his wine glass to his chest. Then he hesitated, reached for the wine bottle and refilled his glass. "Of course, Suit." He gestured broadly. "After you." Taking a step toward the patio door he stopped, reconsidered, and snatched the whole bottle to bring along.

Peter gave El a kiss as he headed out. She smiled at him, and watched them walk out before she turned to Neal. "Okay, you. I just have to put the biscuits for the shortcake in the oven – want to grab the plates?"

"Sure…" Neal tilted his head at her as he brought the dishes into the kitchen. "Ah… any idea what's going on out there?"

She grinned. "Oh, I think Peter just wanted to talk to him about yesterday."

"Ah." Blue eyes sparkled with a touch of mischief. "You mean impersonating an officer of the law?"

"Something like that."

Neal lifted his eyebrows, showing a bit more concern in El's eyes than he was aware of. "Is he in the principal's office?"

Elizabeth laughed, and put a hand on his arm. "I think he'll survive. Can you refill my wine, please? Thanks."

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* * *

Out on the patio, Peter stood and looked up at the stars. It was quiet, and a breeze wafted softly on the night air. Mozzie watched him, trying not to appear nervous. He gulped a bit of wine, and refilled his glass.

Peter sipped from his own glass as he spoke quietly, still staring out into the night sky. "It's beautiful, isn't it?"

"Indeed." Mozzie waited a moment, then blew out a breath. "So…? When you invited us over, you told me you wanted to talk?"

The agent sighed. "Yeah. I do." Turning to look at Moz, he lifted his glass. "Thanks for helping El yesterday. She's impulsive… which is one of the things I love about her. And… as… _strange_ as it may be for me to accept, when I can't be there… I feel like she's a little safer when you or Neal is backing her up. Thank you."

Moz shrugged, blinked at him, and he went on.

"And I suppose that's because I've come to trust you both to back _me_ up, and I know you'll do even more for _her_." Peter sipped his wine again.

The con man looked at the agent for a long, appraising moment. He felt like there was something different about the man standing there in the moonlight. Something elegant. _Almost like a Bond, instead of a Burke. Amazing what Elizabeth brings out in people. Well, in him._ Shaking himself out of his reverie, he glanced toward the house. "I was glad to help her, Suit. Well, not _glad_, but happy. Again, perhaps not _happy_ –" he stopped, and they grinned at each other for a brief second before looking away. Moz took a breath. "You're welcome."

The evening hush settled in for a few minutes, before Peter spoke again. "There's something else."

"Oh?" Mozzie filled his glass once more, and stared at the empty bottle.

"Yeah." Peter took a few steps and turned, leaning against the railing as he swirled his glass. "I'd like to know what your intentions are."

Mozzie nearly choked. "I beg your pardon? My intentions toward your _wife_?"

"No." Peter shook his head, a gentle grin gracing his handsome features. "I want to know what your intentions are regarding _Neal_."

"Ah." The little man rose, and walked over to stand near the railing of the patio with Peter. "I think we're on the same page as far as Neal is concerned."

"Are we?" The response snapped out a little more harshly than the agent intended. Mozzie seemed unfazed.

"We both want him to be happy, don't we?"

Now Peter sighed. "You know what I mean."

"Yes, I do. And I think we're both well aware that Neal is a big boy, and capable of making his own decisions."

"Of course he is. But we also both know that he…" The taller man hesitated, looked up at the sky for words. "He tends to…"

Mozzie spoke quietly. "He looks up to us."

Another sigh. "Yeah."

"And you're afraid, since he and I have worked together so long, that I'm going to lead him astray."

"Well, Moz, I can't say that it hasn't crossed my mind." The agent gave him an ironic grin.

Mozzie turned to lean back against the rail. "I'd say I was surprised that you don't trust me, but then, you are a suit."

"It's not even that, Moz. I know your record. I probably know more than you think I do. But you've helped me so many times… times when it didn't seem that you got anything out of it but the same thing I do – the satisfaction of knowing the right thing was done." He shook his head. "I think Neal gets that same satisfaction. I don't want him to throw away everything he's worked for."

"Oh, Suit, Suit, Suit. You stand there saying you want what's best for Neal, that you want him to be happy, but you're absolutely sure that he'll be happier doing what _you_ want him to do…"

"And you think he'll be happier doing what? What _you_ want him to do?" A tense moment came and went, drifting away on the evening breeze. "Are we actually supposing that we sit on either shoulder, tempting him to do what's right or wrong? That either one of us has that much power?" Peter took a breath, and let it out. "Maybe you're right, Moz. Maybe we both need to let go and let him do what's right… for him."

They stared at each other for a few minutes in the deepening night. Suddenly the outdoor light went on, and they blinked against the brightness. They heard El's voice before their eyes adjusted enough to see her. "Sorry to interrupt, but Satch needs to go out." She paused a moment and looked at their expressions, lifting one eyebrow. "You boys need anything? …More wine, some snacks… a mediator? " The barest hint of a smile touched her lips as she stepped out with the dog, and somehow, both Peter and Moz found themselves grinning back at her.

"I'm good, sweetheart. Thank you."

"_I'm_ good, too." The con man's response sounded oddly defensive, and Peter turned to look at him. The small grin grew to a barely concealed laugh.

"Just who are you trying to convince, Moz?"

Mozzie rolled his eyes and was about to respond when Neal stuck his head out. "Hey." The two men on the patio looked at him, looked at each other, and back to him. It made him shift nervously. "Everything all right out here?"

Peter spoke first. "Mozzie and I were just looking at the stars. And talking about the future."

"_The fault, _dear Suit_, is not in our stars but in ourselves_, to paraphrase the bard." His glasses caught the light as he looked back at Peter. The agent chuckled.

"So you're saying it's inevitable. What about the first part of that line. '_Men are at some times master of their fates_'?"

Neal frowned. Clearly he was part of this discussion, but for the life of him, he didn't understand how. "Ah… guys?" His two closest friends looked back at him, and he felt like he was under a microscope. "Are we having dessert?"

Peter nodded, putting a hand on Neal's shoulder. "Absolutely. I'd love to have dessert." He looked to his side. "You coming, Moz?"

Mozzie put his hand on Neal's other shoulder and gave him a smug look. "Every step of the way."

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…_please feed the author…_


	18. Pulling Strings: Heart of the Storm

_Pulling Strings, wherein Neal has to work for Sara… and Peter has to deal with his in-laws and El's birthday. I enjoyed the episode, but things happened pretty quickly after this – and I wanted to explore just where everyone stood at this point in the season. I hope you enjoy._

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_**Pulling Strings: Heart of the Storm**_

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Rain pattered on the skylights, first with spring-like delicacy, then more loudly before lessening once again; from where he lay in the bed, it sounded almost as if the storm was breathing. Lightning flashed, oddly dimmed by the newspaper covering the rooftop glass, and thunder rumbled off into the night. He stared up into the dark, enjoying the power of nature making itself known here, high in the heart of the city.

Taking a deep breath and exhaling slowly, he allowed himself a smug little grin. _The heart of the city… and exactly where I want to be. At least, right now… _

Two feet away from his head, his cell phone flashed its silent announcement of a text. Quietly he reached over to the nightstand and picked it up, squinting to read. Only a handful of people knew this number, and any of them calling at this hour could only be bad news –

He read the message and gave a small, ironic noise. Lying back into the pillow, he spoke quietly. "You could have just asked."

The woman next to him didn't say anything, but he would have sworn he could hear a smile in her breathing. He went on.

"And I refuse to put my information out into the ether just to have it land right next to me. The answer is 'yes, I'm awake'."

The easy companionship in her voice was obvious. "You seemed engrossed. I didn't want to bother you if you were meditating."

"And I thank you for that consideration. But I was just listening to the rain."

"And thinking?"

"And thinking."

She shifted onto her side, closer to him, and he lifted his arm so that she could rest her head on his shoulder. "I don't know. That sounds like meditating to me."

"I suppose. Still, you know I never sleep as well away from home."

"One of your homes, anyway."

"Yes. But usually…"

Her fingertips walked idly across his barrel chest. "Usually your energy is less conflicted when you meditate."

He grinned into the night, like a Cheshire cat. She had a way of seeing more of him than he intended… and oddly, he found that he didn't mind. She might be the first woman who he felt like he could trust with his strangest idiosyncrasies. They saw each other only rarely, and it wasn't love - at least, neither of them would call it that - but it was quite satisfying.

"You're right."

"As usual." She let out a rare giggle while she felt his indignant reaction.

"Fine." He subsided in the face of the inevitable, and pulled her a little closer, turning his head to rest his chin on her head. "I admit, I'm feeling oddly conflicted."

"Not really surprising."

He exhaled. "It is for me. It shouldn't be that difficult a decision to make –"

"Don't be silly. This isn't just about you. You're vacillating because you don't know what the other variables are, and you have no control over anyone else's actions. It goes against your Machiavellian puppet master complex. Which is why you have open tickets on three different airlines in three different names."

Outside, the storm had quieted. Dawn struggled through the newsprint on the windows, and his questioning voice was almost a whisper.

"Salli?"

"Yes?"

"If I do go –"

"You mean _when_ you go, I believe."

"I have not made that decision." He paused, sounded a bit more vulnerable, and a bit surprised. "You really think I'm going?"

"Do I have to walk you through it logically? Everything you ever wanted, the dream realized, a life of decadent excess… you could be king of your own kingdom." She chuckled a bit. "You could _retire_."

Mozzie blustered a bit. "I'll have you know my talents are still in demand here. I would be missed if I left, by _some_ people, anyway. In fact, just today…" He stopped, reluctant to discuss business, even with her. "Well, whichever… would _you…_ be upset if I left?"

She stretched and looked thoughtful. "No, not really."

He jerked his head back to look at her. "Not at all?"

"Well… it only makes sense. If you don't want to be here, why would I want you here?"

He looked at her for a moment, and then lay back into the pillow. "Sometimes your rationality is irritating. Sensible, as always, but irritating." A quiet, thought-laden moment passed before he spoke again. "You know, we've talked about this before, but I've never asked… I mean… would you be interested in, possibly…"

Salli laughed. "Oh, please. You know I'd never come with you. My home is here, and I need a base." She lifted her head. "But I'll admit… I'd miss you _occasionally_. I'd miss… this." Pushing herself up on her elbows, she leaned in to kiss him. Eventually she pulled back an inch. "Do you really want to keep talking?"

He opened his eyes and looked overly thoughtful. "I don't know."

"You don't know?"

"Well, you seem so critical of my decision making process, I'm not sure if it would –"

"Moz."

"Yes?"

"Shut up."

And she took the decision out of his hands.

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The storm was rumbling its way across New York City, washing down the streets. In the residential neighborhood, not quite so close to the sky, it seemed less intense. At least, to those who didn't have sensitive ears.

A yellow lab whined as the lightning flashed again, and a wide-awake voice called quietly to the dog in the dark. "Come on, Satch."

Elizabeth stirred sleepily as the dog jumped up to the bottom of the bed. She blinked at the animal, and slowly realized that her husband was sitting up, scratching Satch behind the ears to comfort him. She heard him murmur. "It's okay, boy. It's okay." Smiling first at his compassion, she frowned slowly as he remained sitting up, watching as he pulled a blanket over Satch and distractedly rubbed the dog's head.

"Sweetheart?

He turned in the dark, his voice apologetic. "I'm sorry, Hon. Did I wake you? I just let Satch up here because of the storm… you know how he gets with thunder –"

She sat up, and reached out to rest a hand on his shoulder. "No, no. It's fine, he can sleep with us… are _you_ okay?"

Peter took her hand and kissed it. "I'm fine. Must be the storm. My brain won't stop."

"Ah. '_Storm within and storm without_', as Dad would say." She rubbed her hand over his back, and her voice was as gentle as her smile. "What's going on?"

He grumbled a sigh, which made the dog look at him nervously. "I don't want to keep you up –"

"Peter…" She grinned at him. "You want me to guess?" He remained silent in the dark. "Okay. I'm guessing… that Neal is involved."

Peter chuckled, pushing his hands back through his hair. "Now you're psychic, as well as beautiful."

She leaned in to kiss him. "Right. Couldn't be that almost every time you lose sleep, it's because of Neal…" They kissed again. "So. You're trying to figure out what you're going to say at the hearing?"

He exhaled. "Oh, I know what I'm going to say… I just don't know when I'll stop talking." He paused, looking over in her direction. "What's that line Mozzie uses? A happy ending depends on where you stop the story?" The thunder gave a last, soft rumble as the rain softened its pace. "I just don't know, El."

"Well," she said, shrugging a bit, "You know how I feel. But that's not important."

He reached over and took her hand. "It's important to me."

"Oh, hon, I don't mean that in a bad way. I truly believe that if it was only up to you, you'd know exactly what you want to happen… but I know you have other people to answer to."

He nodded, flopping back onto his pillow, and she cuddled into his side. "I wish things could just keep going the way they are. Neal seems to really be stepping up… I feel like he wants to be here, wants to work with us. I don't know how he'll do on his own."

"Can't he work for the FBI as a free man?"

"It depends… budgetary concerns, politics…" He exhaled heavily. "And who knows? Neal's good enough that someone higher up might want him…"

"But you two are doing so well! You deserve to keep working together."

He leaned over to kiss her. "If only you were my boss, sweetheart, I'd be a happy man. Or happier."

"Hmh." She moved closer to him, and ran her finger down his cheek. "Then you'd have to do… anything I asked?"

Peter grinned and kissed her again. "Anything."

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Lightning crackled the sky over the New York skyline, illuminating with an electric blue-white flash the face of a man standing at the glass doors of his rooftop balcony. He smiled into the heart of the storm as the thunder rumbled, almost as if he was most comfortable when surrounded by chaos. In the storm, but not part of the storm.

It flashed again as the clouds moved on spidery legs of light, catching the blue of his eyes, making them sparkle like sapphires. He held up his glass and waited; watching the next strike through the deep red of the wine, and a quietly delighted laugh escaped into the night.

Here he was, alone in the night… _but I don't feel alone_. In fact, he felt more alive than he had in ages. Gone was the guilt of Peter not knowing about the treasure. Gone was the burden of Mozzie pressuring him to leave. Gone was the almost painful silence between him and Sara Ellis.

And, _possibly_, gone was the anklet that tethered him. Although clearly the thought of that change was somewhat bittersweet. Freedom always came with a price… and if he couldn't still work with Peter, doing what he did best… _nah. They'll hire me in a hot minute. I'm too good._

He grinned into the rain that now coated the glass in a solid, wavering sheet, blurring his view of the outside world.

He and Sara had worked well together – and she practically invited him to call her when it was over. Peter had trusted him enough to take on the case - essentially as the lead agent, if he had to admit it to himself – with Diana backing him up… and she seemed to trust his judgment as well. There was a time he would say he was pulling the wool over their eyes, and doing it well, but now… now it was different. Now he wanted them to trust him, because… well, he just did.

_Face it, Caffrey. Life is good. You have a place here. Right here in New York, surrounded by friends, doing work you love… it can't get much better than this. Do you remember how miserable you were, chasing after Kate, even when you thought you were happy?_

His thoughts followed the daisy-chain of events back to the beginning of his life now, and he lifted his glass out toward the stormy city before he sipped his drink. "To you, Peter Burke. Thanks for believing in me." He finished the wine, and whispered quietly to his reflection in the glass. "I promise, I won't disappoint you."

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…_please, if you are so inclined, feed the author…_


	19. Stealing Home: Where the Heart Is

_Stealing Home, wherein we learn that mild mannered FBI agent Peter Burke was once a professional baseball player. We also found Miss Sara Ellis walking into Neal's apartment and telling him they were going to talk... Which clearly went well..._

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_**Stealing Home: Where the Heart Is**_

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Sara heard an odd noise, and her eyes flew open. It wasn't as if she had truly been asleep – at least she didn't think she had been – but the disoriented feeling had her reaching under her pillow for her gun before she realized it wasn't her pillow. Or her bed. Or even her apartment. _Oh, my._ Having come over to talk to Neal last night certainly seemed to have settled a few things.

She gave a quiet chuckle before she rolled onto her back, momentarily surprised that she was the only one under the covers - but there did appear to be someone standing next to the bed in the soft darkness.

"Neal?"

"Watch your eyes."

The reading lamp on the nightstand went on, and she blinked. "Everything okay?"

"Everything's fine… I just got us a little midnight snack. Thought you might be hungry, too." He leaned over to kiss her gently, and smiled. "Scootch up."

Lifting an elegantly old-fashioned bed tray as she sat up against the headboard, he set it across her lap.

"Goodness."

A bottle of sparkling wine, a bowl of strawberries, some French bread and two glasses were on it, along with linen napkins and a single rose in a bud vase.

She laughed, the sound tinkling in the night. "This is beautiful. You know what would make it perfect?"

The microwave beeped and he held up a finger. "Hold that thought."

In a minute he was back with a bowl of melted chocolate. She giggled and applauded silently in girlish delight as he poured the wine. "Perfect!"

"I try."

She dipped a strawberry and savored the taste before she sipped the wine. "Oh, that's wonderful. Here." She dipped another one and fed it to him, which he took with a grin. Looking into his eyes, she smiled almost shyly. "Thank you."

"Hey, it's the least I could do…"

"No, it's not, and that's why I love you." She was looking down at the tray as she heard what she said, and closed her eyes tightly. _ Oh, no… that's not exactly how I was going to do that… _ she opened her eyes and looked at him. He was staring at her, not exactly smiling, not frowning… but quite pointedly _still_.

_ I suppose I'd have to say he's shocked. Not that I blame him._

"Let me explain that…"

"It's okay, you don't have to –"

"Neal. Just shut up and listen." She smiled and shook her head. "I don't quite know how to say this, so forgive me if I ramble…"

Neal grinned and sat back against the headboard. "Okay."

She sighed a laugh as she looked up at the ceiling. "I've had a lot of time to think lately. And I realized I wasn't feeling very happy. At first I thought it was because you made me so mad… and you did, don't get me wrong… but that just made me _angry_. It took some soul searching for me to realize that, well, being around you makes me feel different. Being who I am with you makes me happy."

She turned to look into his eyes, and saw that his gaze was downcast. _Oh, well… you knew this was a crapshoot, and that he thinks of himself as a loner. Finish what you've started, Sara._

"It's not just a matter of _romance_. I mean, the romantic things are lovely, don't get me wrong… but I love discussing art with you. I love sharing a wonderful meal, with wonderful wine. I love walking out there on the roof under the stars… I love having an argument that totally challenges everything I think, even when you make my blood boil and I want to punch you in the nose. I love how you make me _feel_."

Sara paused thoughtfully. _ I wonder if this is how Peter and Elizabeth feel all the time._ She took a sip of her wine before continuing more quietly. "Let me be clear: I don't ever want to feel like another anklet, Neal, something that holds you down, or limits you… but maybe, if you feel anything like I do, you could feel like I'm another… passport. Something freeing." A smile lit her face as she looked up at him again, and lifted her glass. "So I'm saying this as a friend, a fellow human, a woman… I don't know what else. I love you, Neal. I do. And no matter what happens for us in the future, I know I would be the worse for it if I never told you."

His eyes lifted, and she was startled at the gentle vulnerability she saw shining in the depths of blue. A smile touched his lips, and he spoke softly. "You make me so happy." He leaned in to kiss her, and when they parted he chuckled quietly, wiping a smear of chocolate from her chin. "I love you, Sara."

They sat quietly for a few minutes, letting this new information settle. In surprisingly comfortable silence they ate strawberries and drank wine, until Neal suddenly looked up. "Hey."

"Yes?"

"You want to go out? Do anything?"

She laughed easily. "I think I'd just like to sit around with you. Do something ordinary."

His megawatt smile brightened the room. "As if we were _normal_ people, you mean."

"Something like that."

He looked away, thoughtful, and an impish grin changed his expression to one much younger. "Want to watch Shrek? June ordered it for Samantha… it just came in on Netflix…"

Sara stared at him for a moment and burst out laughing. "I suppose it's our story?"

He looked unduly thoughtful, then smiled. "Trying to change, and finding out you can be loved for exactly who you really are? Hmh. If the shoe fits..." Then they kissed, and he turned on the tv, and they settled in for the night as if they'd been doing it forever.

If anyone had told them it might be the last time, they would never have believed it.

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The next morning Neal arrived at the Burke house in a cheerful mood. Things were going so well…last night was amazing… and he couldn't help but grin when he saw the same expression in Elizabeth's eyes. He was acting like the properly grossed out little brother when El mentioned casually that Peter had been drafted by a major league team in his youth, and that, somehow, changed everything. They talked about his rotator cuff, and Neal lightly teased him about only getting to play for two weeks after coming that far. When Peter assured him he had the surgery and had actually returned to the game, everything seemed to change for Neal again.

Genuinely curious, he said, "So you still had the slider."

"That was the problem. My doctor said if I continued to do it, I would destroy my arm for good… and that was in my head every time I pitched. So… I left. I had a choice. I could continue down that path, or find another passion."

Neal looked up at his partner from where he was leaning on the counter. His mind spun a bit. _Just like me… I could go back to being a con full time, but…_The image of himself, Neal Caffrey, being the next Gordon Taylor danced across his mind as he went on."It's a tough call to make. You ever look back and wish you played for the majors?"

Peter smiled with undeniable sincerity. "Oh, of course I do. There's no bigger dream than playing in the show… in hindsight, I would have destroyed my arm, I never would have been able to pass the FBI physical." He stared at his younger partner, who didn't quite believe what he was hearing. "And I never would have caught you."

Neal rolled his eyes and followed Peter out of the kitchen. He found himself staring at the broad shoulders in front of him, and seeing them in a whole new light. _He does know what he's asking. He really does._

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"What are you doing, Moz?"

Neal stared over the parapet, watching his old friend being handcuffed by Peter.

Gordon Taylor, the idol of con men everywhere, walked to his side. "Pantomiming his wholly unexpected capture, I'm sure." Neal raised an eyebrow, and Taylor leaned in as he went on. "It's not just the New York summer heat. The air thickens when things don't feel right."

Neal nodded, almost imperceptibly. "Mozzie said something." _Mozzie said something! I trusted him to back me up… but then, I suppose it's to be expected. It's just human nature. Taylor is that charming… _Another voice in his head countered easily. _You could have trusted Peter Burke to back you up, though... _

He blinked himself back to the conversation, in time for Taylor to pass him the check, and the last thing Neal remembered hearing from a man he once idolized was "Fish don't do well out of water."

_You're wrong. People can change. They can make new choices. They can give up one dream for another…_

Standing alone on the roof he looked at the check again. One hundred and sixty thousand dollars. An amazing amount of money for what felt like an exciting afternoon. Oddly, his first thought was of splitting it with Peter – although he knew that couldn't happen. At least not in any ordinary way…

It took a little digging, but since money was abruptly no object, he found a certain item he wanted, and scheduled an all access visit to a certain ballpark…

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Neal gave him the card, and watched his partner's eyes light up. "You know, I've got to say… knowing you played pro ball made me see you in a whole new light."

"Really."

"Yeah. There's a lot more to Peter Burke than I know."

Peter chuckled, and Neal could practically read it in his eyes. _Turnabout is fair play, I suppose…_

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It is later now. In the afternoon sun two men, dressed like business partners but acting more like brothers, step out onto the perfectly manicured lawn of the stadium. For an afternoon they play catch, and reminisce in the quiet of their hearts about dreams gone by and dreams being lived. Lived right now in this one, perfect moment.

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…_please feed the author…_


	20. Judgment Day: The Ties That Bind

_For the season final, Judgement Day, wherein Neal returns the Raphael, and then runs..._

_I wanted to get this up before the season begins. I hope you enjoy._

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**_JUDGMENT DAY:_ _The Ties That Bind_**

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It was well past nine when she finally left the office. Paperwork done, boss pleased beyond pleased. There was even mention of a party tomorrow, perhaps a promotion, after all was said and done, and the Raphael was certainly amazing… but none of it mattered. Not after Peter's call.

Striding across the lobby of the building, she wondered why she couldn't find just a bit of something to be happy about. She and Peter had, after all, saved Neal from being prosecuted for stealing the painting... but the sensation of loss, and even - when Kramer's face crossed her mind - of _fear_, fell like a pall over any other emotions.

_He's gone. _

"G'night, Ms. Ellis."

"Oh, good night, Fred." She nodded to the security guard as she checked out.

"You're here a bit late, aren't you?"

"Just cleaning up loose ends, Fred. See you in the morning."

"Yes ma'am. Thank God it's Friday."

"Yes." She couldn't find anything else to say. "Thank God."

Walking quietly out into the New York night, she hailed a cab and stared silently as they pulled away from the curb. Without thinking, she gave the driver an address, and sat back into the shadows.

Fifteen minutes later, she got out, paid the fare, and looked up at a beautiful mansion. With a sigh, she walked up the stairs and touched the bell. A moment later the lady of the house opened the door.

"Sara?"

"June. I'm sorry if I'm bothering you… I know it's late. I was just wondering if maybe you had a few minutes…" unexpectedly, her eyes began to water. "I'm sorry, it's just…"

The older woman stepped closer and wrapped her arms around her. "It's all right. You come on in."

"Are you sure? I mean –"

"Just a minute." June walked in with her, stepped over to a cabinet and took out two glasses. Then she glanced over at Sara thoughtfully before turning back to pick out a bottle of wine. "Come on. I know a good place to talk."

They walked upstairs, through the open door of an all too familiar, all too empty apartment, and out onto the roof. With queenly grace, June led them to the often-used outdoor breakfast table, set the glasses down and opened the wine. When she had poured, she lifted her glass with a smile that honestly didn't seem forced. "To absent friends. And freedom."

Sara lifted her glass as well, but couldn't find any words to respond with.

They sipped in silence, sitting under the muted stars of the New York sky. Eventually, June spoke again. "So. What did you want to talk about?"

Sara gave an ironic laugh. "Isn't it obvious?" The younger woman sipped her wine, and stared into her glass. There was a long pause, while she seemed to be getting up her nerve. "I'm… I'm never going to see him again, am I?"

The older woman tipped her head at her, but didn't have a chance to answer before Sara went on.

"I'm never going to see him again, and I could have gone with him… I mean, not that I want to leave New York, or my life… but I could have, June, he as much as asked me… but I didn't want to leave… and I didn't want _him_ to leave… I…" Her breath caught as she swallowed a sob, staring down in the dark. "I just never thought it would end this way…"

The older woman waited a long moment, taking time to refill their glasses and give Sara time to collect herself. As she lifted her glass to her lips, she stopped, and her eyes were sparkling even in the dim light of the stars. "Now, sweetheart, what makes you think that anything's over?"

Sara's eyes leapt up to hers. "What? What else can it be? Peter told me that he gave Neal the high sign to leave, practically _told_ him to run! He sounded so guilty… but he said… that Kramer would practically have kept him as his personal lackey, the threat of prison over his head constantly... How can he possibly come back?"

June smiled gently at her. "Listen to me, Sara Ellis. My husband vanished three times while we were married. Well, twice when we were married, once before… and every time he found a way back. I can't tell you that I know how he'll do it, but he's smarter than most any man I know, and he's got good friends on his side. He'll find a way."

Sara blinked at her. "But… Peter can't help him. It would ruin his career…"

"If I don't miss my guess, his career is in deep trouble already. Now _there's_ a man who may need to take some time off… forced or unforced." She leaned closer and put her hand on the other woman's arm. "Think, Sara. Who found him twice? Who tracked down the incredible Neal Caffrey?"

"Yes, but even if he does find him, how can he possibly bring him back? Kramer will just snatch him up, and he'd be miserable… it's better if he just stays away…"

June smiled. "Did you just say that?"

Sara almost laughed. "I guess so."

"Well. Aren't you the experienced one. I wasn't able to say that until Byron was 'gone for good' the second time…" She sipped her wine with a smile. "Of course, he was away for almost a year that time. But when he came back…" Her head tilted slightly, and Sara could see her affectionate smile even in the dark. "What I'm saying, Sara, is don't ever give up hope. You stay strong… so that when he does come back, you can hold him tight, look him in the eye and say 'I never stopped believing'. Because I'm betting he's hoping like hell he can come back, and there might be something to come back to. You understand me, young lady?"

Sara blinked in the darkness, and found herself nodding. "I'll try."

"Good." They sat in silence for a while, sipping and looking thoughtfully out at the sky. "There's another thing."

Sara frowned, distracted. "Yes?"

June lifted the bottle to refresh their glasses, paused a moment, and went on. "Do you think Kramer may have an ulterior motive?"

"For wanting Neal to work for him?"

"Yes."

"Well… it would certainly boost his record. Peter and Neal do have a phenomenal –"

"I'm wondering if it might be more than that."

"Oh?"

The older woman tapped her fingers idly on the table. "Suppose our Mr. Kramer, head of Art Crimes in Washington, had done something a bit untoward. Something that only a brilliant, cunning art connoisseur like Neal would be able to spot…"

Sara's eyes widened, shining in the night. "You mean you think he might want Neal for his _own_ protection? To keep him under his thumb so that Peter and Neal didn't find something out about _him_? You think he did something… big?"

June sat back in her chair. "I just wonder if anyone's spoken to that CI of his that he sent back to prison. Makes you think, doesn't it?"

Sara stared off into the night sky thoughtfully. It was true. She _did_ believe, somewhere in her somewhat cynical heart, that if only Peter could find him, the Burke/Caffrey team would find a way to make this all better… but how would Peter even know where to start looking?

"I don't know, June… I just wish there was some way I could help him–" She stopped with a little gasp.

"Sara?"

"Oh my God…" She looked up at June. "I… I think I know who he's traveling as. I _do_ know. I saw a passport in his wall safe… June… " Her eyes were bright. "Neal _must_ know that I know." Her eyes narrowed slightly. "I have to tell Peter. Neal would want him to know… without anyone else knowing…"

June laughed, her teeth glimmering white in the starlight. "Now _there's_ hope talking."

Sara didn't know if it made sense, if it was even possible… but the idea that there might be some way for Neal Caffrey to come home, for things to be back to normal, made her heart leap.

She laughed softly as she lifted her glass towards June. "To absent friends", she said. "May they find their way home soon."

* * *

oOo

* * *

Agent Peter Burke leaned heavily against the wall, his cell phone to his ear. He had left the building, had to simply get _out_.

The voice on the other end picked up with a cautiously cheerful tone. "Hey, hon. How did it go?"

"El… he ran."

"What? Why?"

"Because I told him to."

It took a few minutes for him to tell his wife the whole story, while she listened in rapt silence.

"Oh, Peter… are you okay?"

"Me? Yeah, I… no. El, I feel so guilty."

She hesitated. "Not because you told him to go." It was a statement, not a question, and he couldn't help but feel some comfort in this woman who knew him so well.

"No. I guess… because I didn't stand up to Kramer earlier. I should have seen this coming, El. I should have known."

"Peter… just what could you have done? Kramer is over your head…"

"Yes, but I could have investigated more thoroughly. I could have-"

"Sweetheart. Stop." Her voice became more firm. "You did what you could." There was a quiet moment as he nodded, then looked off in the distance.

"I just wish I knew where he went. But until I find a way to bring him back without a price on his head, there's hardly any point." He thought he heard a small sound, and he frowned into the phone. "What?"

Her voice, when she spoke again, had the smallest smile in it. "_Until_ you figure it out." She exhaled, as if a weight had been lifted off her chest. "I love you, Peter."

* * *

oOo

* * *

It was a long flight.

Followed, of course, by a connecting flight, a long, tense layover, and yet another flight. Victor Moreau was exhausted by the time he and Bob stepped off the small plane and onto the island paradise. He hadn't really spoken the entire trip.

"Here we are. Safe and sound. They can't touch us…" Bob looked at Victor and a frown crossed his brow. "Nea- . _Victor_. What's going on?"

Victor Moreau looked out over the shimmering ocean as the sun began its descent. He seemed to be staring far, far away.

"Hello? You in there? We're in paradise!"

_Neal had walked jauntily toward the stairs, his life set, his heart high. No matter what happened, he was happy. Work was good, friends were good, Sara was… he grinned. It was all, finally, after all these years, coming together. _

_His peripheral vision caught movement on the stairs, and he looked up. _

_A flock of agents, led by Kramer. Peter, standing alone and facing them down. Neal tried to imagine what it must have been like for Agent Peter Burke, and how he would feel if he ever had to go up against his own mentor. Biting his lip, the con man stopped, held back a step._

_Of course, Peter saw him. Peter always saw him._

_Agent Burke looked toward him, and past that frozen expression, through those dark eyes, his best friend seemed to actually speak in his mind, as his head moved ever so slightly in the negative. _

_Run, Neal. Run. Get the hell out of here. You don't deserve this… and I won't be part of it._

_And with the slightest of frowns but no doubt whatsoever, Neal slipped into the crowd, and ran._

_Breathlessly he pounded up the stairs to his apartment, fished out the passport he needed from the wall safe, paused as he lifted the wire cutters –_

_The man in the mirror looked beyond frightened. He looked lost, and alone. _

_As he reached down to cut the anklet, the thought screamed in his head that he was cutting much more than that, he was cutting all ties to this world, this amazing world that had been so absolutely perfect not twenty minutes ago… he was cutting his heartstrings. _

_Karma, he thought. Maybe that's all he ever deserved, after the life he lived. A little happiness, and then… nothing._

Blinking back to the present, he turned to look at his traveling companion, and gave a well-acted grin. "Just tired."

Still, in his head, all he could hear, all he could see, was the face of his best friend. He once more saw his serious eyes, heard the rumble of his voice, making a threat that landed like a seal on his heart.

_"If you run, I'll find you, Neal." _

Seeing the promise in those warm hazel eyes gave him the strangest kind of hope he'd ever had.

He nodded to Bob, who was holding a small hula dancer on his open palm. "Let's get some sleep."

* * *

oOo

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_...please feed the author..._


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